


The Mistakes They Made

by ImmortalJellyfish



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Civil War, Danzo's a dick to everyone, Dark Konoha, F/M, Gen, Let's just say bad things happened, SI/OC, Spies, adding tags as I go, and now people have to fix it, secret rebellions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmortalJellyfish/pseuds/ImmortalJellyfish
Summary: When attempting to save the world, one might discover that their action only condemns it to hell. And as the fire rages out on control three voices whisper to themselves, 'what have I done?'
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi & Original Female Character(s), Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Itachi & Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Shisui & Original Female Character(s), Uchiha Shisui/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	1. The Beat of a Butterfly's Wing

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t believe in giving warnings in the middle of the story. If something is especially trauma-tizing/triggering, then I’ll give warning in the author notes. But this is a story about spies, medics, and civil war and all that snazzy jazz so this is a Story Blanket Warning:
> 
> Character Death  
> Graphic Depictions of Violence/Gore

_The Beat of a Butterfly’s Wing_

* * *

_It started like this:_

Four years, eleven months, and twenty-one days ago, the entire Uchiha clan deserted Konoha in one night. No one knew how or why until the next day when the ANBU guard rotated, revealing a missing ANBU operative and the bloody corpses of the Hokage and three Uchiha. According to rumor, a suicide note was found on one of the Uchiha’s bodies, but the contents were never revealed to the public.

When ANBU agents went to the Uchiha district for answers, they found it abandoned with only scraps of chakra residue from a massive genjutsu hinting at their means of escape, but nothing more. Further investigation showed that everything except vital necessities were left behind, suggesting it had been a hasty escape.

With little evidence behind the mad act, people came to their own conclusions — most of which painted the Uchiha as the villains of a dramatic plot to kill the Hokage, especially when it came to light that the missing ANBU operative was allegedly the newest rookie, the Uchiha heir. Less than a tenth of Konoha’s occupants questioned the bizarre events further, though they learned to keep quiet as the anti-Uchiha sentiments grew.

After the Uchiha clan’s abrupt exodus, the Konoha government had to decide what to do with the abandoned district. The Civilian Council wanted to divide up the land amongst themselves while the Shinobi Council preferred for it to be remodeled into training grounds. The Elder Council advocated for nothing more than to raze the buildings to the ground and turn it into farmland. But the newly elected Hokage abstained from making any decisions, letting the debate drag on.

For months, it’d stayed on the table, always circling through the same tired arguments but never reaching a compromise. All the while, the walled space remained untouched and unclaimed, guarded only by sparse patrols that were easy to get around, if one knew the schedule.

Naturally, the lowlifes and homeless of Konoha took advantage of the waffling among the councils to loot the abandoned homes for their valuables and take up residence. No amount of persuasion, not even the threats of criminal prosecution and under-the-table bribery, could move them off. So Konoha was forced to give up on the idea of turning the former Uchiha district into anything useful, leaving it to rot in the hands of those the Uchiha once heavily policed.

Some could say the result was a form of poetic justice in the end.

If only they knew.

_“Sanctuary.”_

Had the night patrols been less predictable, maybe they would have seen the graffitied gates of the district opened silently on surprisingly well-oiled hinges. The gates’ progress halted with just enough space for a person of average build to slip between them, then swing shut again with barely a whisper. A moment later, the next patrol passed by none the wiser.

Had the patrol bothered to check the slum district, they would have seen the normal nocturnal activities of the beggars and thieves. The fights and gambling, the drunken parties, and the sinful cries wafting from the freshly painted whore houses. In the chaos of the slums, the shinobi would have missed two women walking down the main street, heads bent together, gossiping like old friends; and the grizzled old man drunkenly falling into an all-night stall, followed by the enraged merchant’s cursing. They would not have seen the many children, ragged and dirty scamps with nimble fingers, their hands forever slipping into coin purses and pockets.

Most importantly, the patrols wouldn’t have seen the slips of paper the children left behind; they wouldn’t have seen the stall owner pass a tightly bound package to his stall’s assailant. Nor would they have seen the taller woman’s eyes flash a vicious red as she inspected the newest potential recruit for any subterfuge.

The Uchiha might have once heavily policed the scum of Konoha, but they did so effectively and fairly. They knew the common man and could greet each of them by name, creating rapport among the farmers and merchants that made the backbone of Konoha. When the Uchiha left, the power they once exclusively held created a vacuum which had Konoha scrabbling to fill.

The government’s idea to replace the police force was to fill the ranks with off-duty shinobi who spent little time with civilians. It pleased no one, save perhaps the criminals. Disgruntled by being forced into rotations of police work, the shinobi didn’t bother the way the Uchiha once had. They weren’t motivated enough to become acquainted with the civilians. They were content to do the bare minimum while on rotation; to just clock in and then out the second their shifts ended. It left a great rift between the civilians and the shinobi population, one so large that it allowed certain individuals of questionable loyalty to slip through the cracks.

Kataoka Taemi was one of them.

When she was young and stupid, Taemi would readily admit that she used to hate her family. She thought they were holding her back; as a child, she had thought if she was a good enough kunoichi then maybe her grandmother’s clan would adopt her, give her _their_ name.

As she grew older, she knew it was a futile dream. The Uchiha clan had no room for a bastard like her, with red hair and unchanging blue eyes. Taemi gave up on the hope that she would be anything but a mediocre chūnin, forgettable despite her illustrious lineage on her mother’s side.

But then came the Assassination. The Exodus. When the Uchiha left, Taemi remained, stunned like everyone else by the abrupt turn of events. Her family stopped mentioning her grandmother’s family around the dinner table. Her team stopped teasing her about her heritage. Everyone forgot about poor Taemi. With red hair and blue eyes, she couldn’t be an Uchiha. Just a mediocre chūnin from a small shinobi family.

Things got better.

Taemi had attended the Godaime’s inauguration. She remembered that light feeling of hope as he solemnly took the Hat from the council elder. He made no big speech, no grandiose proclamation, he simply told them that he would bring peace to their village no matter the cost. At the time no one knew what he really meant, and it wouldn’t be for years until anyone realized, but they believed in him.

Weeks passed. Months. Eventually a year and then two came and went, but Taemi remained where she was. Her life continued. Missions here, desk duty there, giddy romances in between that always ended in heartbreak. The life of a young woman in her prime.

Slowly things returned to normal. Civilians moved on. They had more things to worry about than a famous clan leaving and the government’s plans to resolve the issue. Shinobi would never forget the betrayal, but over time, the wound slowly scabbed over. It helped that the Uchiha made no move against Konoha or her people; whatever they wanted to achieve when they murdered the Sandaime must have been successful. People began to relax — no longer worried of a civil war looming.

Then things got worse.

Out of nowhere came another attack from the traitorous clan. Many shinobi lives were lost in a senseless massacre and for nothing. Just like the Sandaime, the Massacre of Osozukura had no discernible reason — just more needless death to sate the blood lust of a mad clan.

The Hokage’s position on the matter had looked promising, Taemi once thought. He looked like he would finally side with the people in their grief with the Uchiha, that he would look out for the common man. Then things began to change. ‘For the war effort,’ the declarations proclaimed every time a new policy was placed. A small change in the law. A different system to be ‘tested’ and eventually implemented. On and on it went, slowly and slowly until the streets seemed devoid of the life they once held.

Taemi didn’t question it, not at first. This was war, she reasoned with herself and her peers. It’s no different than the Great Shinobi Wars of the past. Just on a smaller scale, and more personal. But every time she watched a friend have a mental breakdown because a mission took them too close to Uchiha territory, or when the rumor mill whispered about another supposedly loyal shinobi abandoning the village, Taemi felt something was… wrong. Covered up.

Then Taemi woke her Sharingan, years and years past her majority, in a mission that escalated beyond her team’s pay grade. She would happily give the cursed dōjutsu back, preferring her teammates — her _family_ — over a pair of fancy eyes.

But in awakening the Sharingan, Taemi finally realized what she had been missing. At first, she had only wanted to prove something, prove that there was still a loyal _true_ Sharingan user in the village. Her first use of the dōjutsu was when her new team came across an Uchiha patrol — breaking the genjutsu one tried to weave over them.

When they realized what happened, her team turned on her spewing hateful words of betrayal. Calling her a red-eye lover, a traitor, scum of the earth, and a backstabbing spineless bitch. The graphic way her team leader described what would happen to her when she was dragged back to the village still gave her nightmares to this day. All the while, the Uchiha patrol watched the event unfold in bewilderment.

In the end, her team laid dead at her feet by her own hands in desperate self-defense and the lead Uchiha urged her to blame them. To remain hidden. They would protect her as best they could, but she had to keep her kekkei genkai a secret.

Taemi learned that day that the Uchiha weren’t the villains the government painted them as. Just people wanting to be free.

She returned to the village with lies, adding fuel to the fire despite her reluctance not to. She wasn’t just a mediocre chūnin anymore; but she wasn’t an Uchiha either, not with her red hair and blue eyes. No, instead she became something more.

Taemi became an integral part of the underground system. She was the first gatekeeper. The woman who determined who would be sent further down the line towards the Stronghold, and who would quietly disappear, to be never heard from again. Taemi saw anywhere from five to twenty hopefuls in a single day. Most of them were just looking for an easy way out, a few were discovered to be spies; only a very small percentage were legitimate.

Taemi prided herself in being able to sniff out the good from the bad. In her four years of secret loyalty and service to the Uchiha, there were only three cases wherein someone slipped past her, only to be caught by the Welcome Committee. She was the first safeguard, but she wasn’t the last.

She would never bear the Uchiha’s noble name, tarnished as it was, and she doubted her fellow gatekeepers even remembered who she was; but it was all in the name of the Uchiha, that they continued against a maligned Konoha.

* * *

_Or perhaps it started like this:_

Shisui would never forget the look on Itachi’s face when he came barreling into the weekly clan meeting, he had been excused from, saying that cousins Keijiro, Masa, and Urane had assassinated the Hokage. Shisui remembered Fugaku-oji bolting to his feet, Sharingan flashing as he demanded what happened.

Itachi never looked more like the twelve-year-old he was than that night.

Shisui remembered the panic from the adults following the boy’s hasty report. The demands made. The shouting. Then he remembered Mikoto-oba standing up and shouting for silence. The shock of the calm and soft-spoken matriarch yelling made everyone shut up and sit down long enough for Fugaku-oji to create an escape plan.

At the time Shisui wasn’t sure how the clan managed to leave the village with no complications. The massive genjutsu created by his mother and aunt was a major part, certainly, but to Shisui it went almost _too_ smoothly. It would be years before he realized the Uchiha planned for the eventuality that they would have to abandon their homes. For months he felt sick, thinking that the adults had planned the assassination before finally working up the courage to ask his mother.

It was the only time she slapped him.

After being screamed out of the house by a tearful mother for daring to think that of the clan, Shisui turned to the only other person who felt as he did.

Shisui and Itachi hadn’t been too close as children. The older boy was too preoccupied with his own life to really get to know the taciturn heir; but the few times they did talk, Shisui felt that Itachi held similar ideas about the clan and Konoha.

Shisui loved his village, still did, and he knew Itachi felt the same. It was obvious by the way his little cousin was wracked with guilt over the Sandaime’s death. Everyone knew it; they could see it in the way Itachi withdrew from the clan, even his immediate family. But there was nothing to be done, the few overtures of friendship from his peers were met with blank stares and indifference. Eventually the rest of the clan gave up on the heir, allowing him to sink further into depression and guilt. Only his family continued to try, but he only shut them out.

So Shisui took it upon himself to fix it.

He meddled, popping up like a bad cold when Itachi finally managed to dodge his younger brother, asking if Itachi wanted to spar. The boy always acquiesced to his requests, sometimes eagerly, and sometimes like it were a great chore. Shisui got to know the kid’s fighting style and tactics — Itachi was good. That much was granted; he was the rookie of the ANBU at age eleven, but there was a difference in hearing about Itachi’s prodigious skill and witnessing it firsthand.

Kid packed a punch, that was for certain.

Eventually the spars extended to a cooldown time. Where before, Itachi would walk away after the seal of reconciliation, now he began to stay behind, silently joining Shisui in his cooldown stretches. Most people would try to talk to the teen then, but Shisui knew better. He was very patient; he learned that skill with the quiet, shy kids he had befriended in the Academy, and he was good at playing the long game. Shisui had to let Itachi make the first move.

Five months after the exodus, in the middle of their cooldown, Itachi finally spoke, “Shisui-san?”

The older teen huffed, “How many times I gotta tell you? It’s Shisui. We’re cousins, aren’t we?”

“ _Shisui_ , why did you seek me out?” Well, blunt wasn’t he? Shisui’s best friend had been the same sometimes, not that he’d ever tell her that to her face.

Shisui straightened from his pose. Itachi continued his, stubbornly refusing to look up. 

“Well you looked like you needed a friend.” The recently turned thirteen-year-old frowned to himself. Shisui shrugged and rolled his shoulders, pulling his right arm across his chest for a shoulder stretch. “And I could use a friend too. I didn’t realize how distant I was from the clan until we were all alone out here.”

Finally, Itachi looked up at him. “But you know everyone.”

“I have a good memory, Itachi,” Shisui explained, “I remember everyone’s name and a few facts about them. Doesn’t mean I’m friends with them.” 

Why was he having this conversation, and with a teenager no less? Wasn’t this a conversation for someone closer to Sasuke’s age?

“Then why not be friends with them?”

Kami save him.

“Itachi. Just because I know things like Nae is dating Goroku against their parents’ wishes, or that Sutsu’s having a girl next month, doesn’t mean I’m their friend. It just means I overhear things.”

“Oh. Then why me?”

Itachi asked the hard questions, didn’t he? The more Shisui got to know the younger boy, the more Itachi resembled Kaoru. It made him nostalgic almost.

“I was there when you were born, you know. Well not in the actual room; my family was in the waiting room,” Shisui started. Itachi didn’t react much, but the way he tilted his head made Shisui think he looked confused, maybe bewildered, at the admission. Shisui smiled sadly, “You probably don’t remember him, but I had an older brother.”

“His name was Utsuru.”

“Yes.” _Nii-san…_ “Utsuru-nii-san told me the day you were born that, as our clan heir, there would be plenty of kids who would try to be your friend because of your position, and it was our job to protect you from them.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shisui saw Itachi’s face twist a little, showing distaste. The older teen could almost laugh. Such a cute expression!

“At the time I thought it meant we would be your bodyguards,” Shisui continued, “but as I grew older I came to realize that it meant that even if the world may see you as a chess piece, I wouldn’t. I will stand by you no matter what, Itachi.”

Shisui turned to his cousin and smiled, holding out his hand to the younger boy. “You’re my brother, Itachi. I will always be here for you.”

Itachi reached up and grabbed his hand, allowing Shisui to pull him to his feet. Once the boy found his footing, Shisui slung his arm around his cousin’s shoulder and pulled him close. The younger boy struggled for a brief second, startled, but eventually relaxed. He turned his face into his cousin’s sweat-streaked shirt and sighed. Maybe he imagined it, but Shisui could have sworn the corner of Itachi’s mouth tilted up into a small smile.

Shisui squeezed him closer.

.

.

.

Shisui would like to say that he and Itachi magically became the best friends after that, but it would be a lie. Itachi was more open to talking during their cooldowns, true, but he remained distant.

Regardless, Shisui refused to give up; his parents didn’t raise him to quit so easily, after all. He kept at it, being friendly and approachable despite the dead ends he ran into constantly.

In the end, he was rewarded for his patience.

It happened a year to the day from the Uchiha Exodus, on a cold winter morning. Fresh snow carpeted the entire area, casting the forest into a serene silence. Shisui was waiting for Itachi to show for their daily spar, lounging in a bare tree that overlooked the small clearing they had claimed as their own. Itachi wouldn’t be there for another hour, so Shisui had time to relax and reflect.

Shisui rarely had time to himself these days, and what little he did have was spent trying to keep his little cousin sane. When he wasn’t sparring with Itachi or laid out in bed too exhausted to have his usual nightmares, Shisui was out on patrol. When there wasn’t patrol, there were meetings. Meetings upon meetings. Clan meetings, council meetings, even private meetings with Fugaku-oji and his second, Yakumi-san.

It was strange, in a way. In Konoha, he was just another prodigy among hundreds, with only a clan name and a signature move to help him stand out. The secret of his eyes was only shared with the clan elders and Konoha’s Council of Elders. But only his mother and Fugaku-oji knew about the special techniques that came with his Mangekyū.

Before the exodus, Shisui didn’t stand out like he did now. Here, among the ruins and overgrown trees of the Uchiha clan’s ancestral lands, Shisui was important. He was one of the six Uchiha who didn’t join the KMPF, and the only one on the active duty roster instead of being part of T&I or the Intelligence Division. As such he was a valuable source of information on Konoha’s military patterns.

Itachi would be a better choice of course, being ANBU — rookie or not — but Fugaku refused to let the boy be part of the meetings so soon. Fugaku was a stern man, but he wasn’t so cruel as to force his son when it was clear the kid was struggling to come to terms with the Sandaime’s death, even now.

Still, the elders pushed. They wanted the information Itachi had on ANBU movements, on secrets that could give the Uchiha an upperhand when the tensions finally broke into a fight. But Fugaku didn’t budge from his stance. Shisui respected his uncle for that. For now they were content with what Shisui could tell them. He had been a jōnin for four years and nine months when the Assassination happened — Shisui’s intel wasn’t anything to scoff at.

A whizzing sound interrupted Shisui’s musings. He whipped out a hand to snatch a pebble from the air without bothering to open his eyes. He rolled the small rock between his fingers before flicking it away.

“Is that any way to greet someone? I’m positive your mother taught you better than that,” Shisui called down.

Itachi said nothing.

With a grin, Shisui jumped down from his tree branch, landing heavily in the snow bank below. Itachi sidestepped the snowball Shisui had thrown at him on the way down, face blank in his usual deadpan when it came to his cousin’s antics.

Shisui straightened up, dusting the white powder from his pants. 

“Well, you waiting for an invitation?” His grin turned sharper at the words, settling back into a defensive position. Oftentimes their spares started without preamble, nothing traditional or structured like most friendly spares. Just fists and kunai and ninjutsu until they were on their backs, exhausted.

Itachi tilted his head, considering the older boy. Shisui raised an eyebrow at his hesitation, but didn’t let up from the stance. For all he knew, Itachi was trying to put him off guard.

“Can we just talk today?”

Shisui blinked once. Then twice. Itachi wasn’t much for words. He wasn’t much for any means of communication really. Shisui straightened. “Uh… sure. What’s on your mind?”

Once more, Itachi proved how blunt he really was by asking, “Why are you still loyal to Konoha?”

Shisui had to admire the kid. Itachi had phrased the question in such a way that it gave away nothing of his own thoughts on the matter. He’d have to be extremely careful in answering. “Hm? What makes you think I’m loyal?”

“The contingency plan you’ve created when encountering hostile Konoha nin is different from encountering shinobi from other countries,” Itachi stated, “It’s clear you’re biased towards Konoha. Why?”

The older teen raised an eyebrow, impressed with his cousin’s intellect. Shisui considered the Konohan contingency plan as one of his masterpieces.

When Fugaku-oji had approached him with the idea, Shisui took it upon himself to lower the risk of causing a full out war with Konoha. He had worded each plan carefully so they sounded similar enough to not raise suspicion, but different enough that each encounter wouldn’t have the same exact outcome. Most Uchiha wouldn’t realize they were being lenient to their former allies as opposed to anyone else.

Of course, it all hinged on the idea that the Uchiha would follow the plans to the letter, but Shisui couldn’t make the decisions for them. He could only subtly manipulate them.

Still, for Itachi to sniff out that much just by reading the protocols of each contingency…

Shisui shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets for a feigned nonchalance. 

“I have a few reasons,” he answered, “Mainly because I have friends outside the clan. I’d hate to see them hurt because a clansman got a little heated if they crossed paths.”

“And the other reasons?”

He wasn’t letting this go was he? Shisui briefly wondered if this was revenge for him hounding Itachi for the past year. “Why do you want to know?”

“Don’t deflect the question.”

“I’m serious.” Shisui took a step towards Itachi. He wasn’t above using his superior height to intimidate the boy. A cheap tactic, certainly, and one that didn’t seem to be working based on Itachi’s annoyed expression, but Shisui needed to know. “Why are you asking me? If _you’re_ loyal to Konoha, then what does it matter if my strategies go easy on them? And if you’re not, then why are you tipping me off instead of reporting me to your father?”

“This isn’t about me, Shisui.”

“Then what is this about?”

Both teenagers stayed silent for a long moment. Neither were willing to back down from the impasse they had reached. Shisui wasn’t willing to admit to anything until he had a reason to, and Itachi wasn’t willing to give a reason until Shisui confirmed or denied his true loyalties.

Somewhere in the forest, a crow cried.

Itachi relented first, looking like he had found what he was searching for in his cousin’s eyes. “You told me last year that you would stand by my side no matter what.”

Shisui’s brow furrowed. What was this kid on about now? And why bring that up? 

“Yeah I did say that, and I do mean it.” He answered the question floating in the air, left unsaid.

“So if I told you to change the protocol for dealing with Konoha shinobi to be more like how we deal with, say, Kumo?”

“I’d say go fuck yourself.”

That startled a breathy chuckle out of Itachi’s mouth. Despite the harsh wording, Itachi seemed satisfied with Shisui’s answer. Shisui remained frowning, however. He wasn’t sure if this entire conversation was just Itachi being curious or if he really was looking for a meaning hidden underneath that only he was privy to.

Shisui wanted to question the younger boy, but also wanted to grab Itachi by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth fell out. When he said he’d stand by Itachi, he didn’t mean he’d be a sycophant. Could Itachi simply be testing him?

No, it had to be more than that.

Itachi sobered, his eyes pinning Shisui in place. “And if I asked you to spy on your mother?”

A jolt of fear ran down Shisui’s spine. That… that wasn’t a hypothetical question. Itachi really wanted to know if Shisui was willing to spy for him. But why? He needed answers, and if Itachi wouldn’t give them to him straight…

For now, Shisui played along, “What did Kaa-san do?”

“The genjutsu she and Okaa-san used to cover our escape,” Itachi started. “Such complex techniques require several hours to form, yet they managed to cast it in twenty-four minutes.”

Shisui shrugged nonchalantly. “Anyone who has eyes and a brain know that the Uchiha clan were planning for something before the assassination. But I got smacked in the face for implying that the clan planned the assassination. You know Kaa-san, she ain’t got a mean bone in her body when it comes to family. She wouldn’t have slapped me if I was right.”

“Do you know what they were planning?”

“No.”

“Could you find out?”

Shisui studied his cousin. The thirteen-year-old looked tired. He was scrawny for a shinobi. Most Uchiha boasted a slender physique, but Itachi appeared more gaunt than naturally lean. It wasn’t due to his age either. Itachi was in better health than he was a year ago — when he was mere moments from having a mental break — but he was still miles away from being considered a healthy teenage boy.

In the blink of an eye, an image of a happier, younger Itachi overlaid the kid standing before Shisui. With another blink, the hazy image was gone, leaving a haggard, aged-before-his-time Itachi behind. It wasn’t fair, Shisui thought angrily, it wasn’t fair that such a child was forced to grow up so fast.

Taking a breath to steady himself, Shisui turned his head away from his cousin. It was beginning to snow again, Shisui noticed. Snow wasn’t something he was used to; Konoha was too far south to enjoy constant snow during the winter season. In his seventeen years, Shisui had only ever seen it snow in Konoha once, when he was six. Shisui felt his lips twitch, that winter had been the setting for some of his favorite memories.

“Itachi.” Shisui’s gaze slid to his cousin. The boy remained perfectly still, not showing his true thoughts or intentions to whatever Shisui might say next. “Answer me this and I’ll help you: Who is asking you to snoop around?”

Itachi raised his chin. Slowly he reached into his weapons pouch behind him, projecting his movements to keep Shisui from overreacting to the potentially hostile move. Shisui mentally scoffed. If he wanted his cousin dead, the kid would be on the ground with a slit throat before he could blink. He might be a prodigy, but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Shisui’s real attacks.

The boy pulled out a small scroll, barely the length and width of Shisui’s little finger. With a flick of his wrist, Itachi sent the scroll into the air for Shisui to catch. Shisui eyed his cousin, searching for any duplicity, but the boy remained annoyingly hard to read.

Shisui ran a fingernail under the tiny metal latch that held the scroll closed. The tightly coiled paper unraveled to reveal a compacted summoning seal.

Several things happened at once. In the span of a few seconds, Shisui flung the scroll away from him and flickered away, palming a kunai while airborne. A cloud of expended chakra puffed up from the scroll while still in flight, much larger than what Shisui would expect to come from such a tiny seal. He readied the weapon upon landing on the other side of the clearing, not sure if he should aim for Itachi or for whatever came out of the scroll.

“Rruuuett!”

A… a frog?

Shisui stared at the small amphibious creature sitting on the discarded scroll. A snowflake landed between its bulbous eyes, adding to the absurdity of a cold-blooded creature being in a forest in the dead of winter.

Itachi stepped forward so he was in Shisui’s direct line of sight, conveniently cutting off any attempt to harm the creature. “This is Gamarito. He’s a messenger.”

“Rruet, food?”

Itachi looked over his shoulder at the talking creature, “No, Gamarito-san. I didn’t bring food, I apologize.”

The amphibian puffed up in annoyance. “No food, no message! Rruett.”

“That’s a toad. Not a frog,” Shisui muttered, mostly to himself.

“Rrueeitt!” The toad expanded his throat out in agitation, croaking loudly. Itachi simply watched Shisui as he stood up and tucked the kunai back into his thigh pouch.

The older boy chuckled under his breath. Of all things, he hadn’t expected a toad summon. In all honesty, he didn’t even think Itachi would have given him a straight answer to the question. He had risked a lot by showing Shisui that toad. Even a kid as young as Sasuke would have easily deduced who Itachi had been talking to.

With a crooked smile, Shisui planted his fists on his hips and laughed loudly, throwing his head back. He raised a hand to his face, covering his eyes. Oh how ironic it all was! Here he was, doing everything in his power to minimize the conflict that constantly loomed over everyone’s heads, and Itachi had all the answers he was missing!

A direct link to the Godaime Hokage, Jiraiya the Toad Sage.

He grinned at Itachi, who with each passing second looked like he was regretting showing Shisui his true loyalties. 

“Itachi-chan,” ah there was that adorable pout he missed so much, “whatever our esteemed leader needs from me, don’t hesitate to ask. I am, after all, a shinobi of Konoha.”

To work from the shadows once more, Shisui mused as he watched his cousin slump in relief that his gamble paid off, he would protect the peace at any cost. That was, and always will be, his nindo.

.

.

.

It was a little strange meeting Itachi outside of ‘their’ clearing. Shisui wasn’t sure when the clearing he always found Itachi training in became his as well, or when it turned into a place where he could relax and just be a teenager hanging out with his cousin. He wasn’t entirely sold on the idea of cutting back on all the time spent there, but Itachi did have a point that it looked a little suspicious that they were always there. Suspicious and predictable.

Still didn’t explain why the reclusive teenager chose to hold conspiracy meetings with his older cousin out in public; Shisui figured it was just something that only made sense to the genius.

The proprietress of the tea house Itachi had brought him to bowed deeply to the clan heir, murmuring her thanks for his patronage. It was… strange, Shisui thought, watching Itachi return the formal greetings. Despite Itachi being a very formal person to begin with, Shisui wasn’t used to seeing him in any other light other than as his quiet younger cousin. It often floored Shisui whenever a passing Uchiha paid their respects to the clan heir.

The shop owner served them herself, using the finest china she had. Shisui knew her of course — he prided himself in knowing just about every Uchiha in the clan — and he made small talk with her as the tea steeped. Itachi remained quiet throughout the whole affair, eyes gazing out the shop front. Eventually Shisui had to let her get back to work, unable to fish for more information without seeming pushy.

Shisui sipped at his cup, grimacing at the warm, slightly bitter liquid. He wasn’t a fan of tea, preferring just water, but the blend the owner served them was good. Definitely meeting Itachi’s impossibly high tastes if going by his content expression. The two of them sat in silence.

Shisui’s attention drifted. Idly he drank as he watched his clansmen go about their business outside the shop. The stronghold had truly transformed over the year since they had moved in. The ruins had been worked on and improved until a veritable city bloomed on their ancestral home. It was an ugly patchwork of modern, traditional, and ancient stonework, but it was _theirs_. They had raised a home to live from the ruins of an age long dead, and they were proud of it.

Not Shisui. No matter how familiar or comfortable he grew, this place would never be home.

He drained the last of his tea, nearly gagging on the stronger bitter taste, and set the cup down with a small clink. Itachi had his eyes closed, cradling his own tea under his nose. For a moment Shisui debated trying to startle him, but in the end decided against it. It would be funny if he succeeded, certainly, but he knew he would pay for it later.

Shisui tapped the rim of his cup. “How’s your brother doing? Feels like I haven’t seen the squirt in ages.”

“He’s avoiding you.”

Shisui gasped loudly, throwing himself back and raising a hand to his chest in a flair of dramatics. “What?! Sasuke-chan loves me!”

Itachi raised an eyebrow, shooting him a dry look. “You told him that there was a god of tomatoes, and if he sacrificed a tomato every day at dawn the ‘god’ would bless him with more.”

Shisui snorted and tried to cover it up by coughing into his fist. Sasuke was young enough that he believed almost anything adults told him, much to Shisui’s eternal amusement. Every time Shisui saw the boy, he tried to convince him about something outlandish. Unfortunately, it seemed Sasuke was starting to catch on. If Shisui kept it up, the kid wouldn’t trust a single thing Shisui said.

“Okay okay,” Shisui appeased when Itachi’s neutral face turned into a scowl, “I’ll apologize next time Kaa-san and I come over for dinner. Happy?”

“I’d be happier if you would quit.”

“No can do, Itachi-chan. It’s how I bond with Sasuke-chan,” Shisui said with a wink.

“I wouldn’t call that bonding.”

Shisui scoffed, “Says the guy who pokes the poor kid in the forehead as an apology.”

Itachi had no argument for that, settling on giving him a dirty look over the rim of his cup. Shisui shot a smug grin back at him, knowing he had won.

Shisui liked this. Being able to relax with his cousin over tea. He knew that it was just a front, the scroll that had discreetly passed from his pocket to Itachi’s weapons pouch attested to that, but it still felt nice. Maybe one day they could do this again with no underlying motive.

But until that point, Shisui would continue to gather information from everyone he talked to and pass it on to Itachi.

The two teenagers parted ways shortly afterwards, Itachi off to forward the report to the Hokage, and Shisui back to the house he and his mother lived in.

He couldn’t in his right mind call it home. Home was just off the main stretch of the Uchiha district. It held memories of his deceased family — Shisui’s father, brother, even his paternal grandmother when she lived with them in her twilight years.

Not this house, wood built upon old stone with only his mother to add life to it.

“I’m home!” Shisui called out as soon as he opened the door. Kaa-san didn’t respond. Her sandals were missing from their spot too; likely she had gone to visit her sister. Shisui felt sick for being glad about that.

Shisui sighed, feeling his forced cheer slough off him. Sometimes he was just too tired to keep appearances up. Every day… every day it was the same. Get up, pretend to be happy for his mother, go outside, pretend to be cheerful for his clansmen, go on missions, pretend to be content for his teammates and Fugaku-oji, go home, sleep, and repeat, repeat, _repeat_.

His only solace was Itachi. He understood, perhaps not the pressure to put on a happy smile since Itachi had the emotional range of a dead fish, but the younger teen still _understood_. They were two people alone searching for reconciliation in a sea of their family who enjoyed being free of the village.

Shisui often wondered if what they were doing was a betrayal, or if it was salvation.

He entered his room. It was clean and orderly, not a single thing out of place. It looked more like an empty guestroom than something that belonged to a seventeen-year-old.

When they were still students, he and his friends had gone to Migaki’s house after class let out. Migaki was raised a civilian, and his bedroom reflected that upbringing. As the only clan-raised kid among them, Shisui had been appalled at the mess. When Shisui asked another friend if all bedrooms were like that or just Migaki’s, she had laughed at him.

The memory made Shisui smile.

Sometimes he wondered what they were doing. Not just the friends he made in the Academy, but his surviving genin teammate, his brother’s teammates, hell even the udon cook whose stall he frequented during lunch hours. Try as he might not to, Shisui also wondered what they thought of him. He never really cared what people thought of him, but the entire mess with the Uchiha made him more… aware of how different he was compared to his clan.

Where his clansmen stayed mostly to themselves, with few outside friendships — most of which were their genin teammates — Shisui had always been ready for new friends. His brother had often teased him about it, calling him the ‘Uchiha who couldn’t Uchiha,’ whatever that meant.

He could only hope that when Jiraiya-sama puts their plan into action, he could see his friends again. Maybe if things went well, they would welcome him back and things could return to how they were. It was a nice sentiment, but in the back of his mind he knew it was just a fantasy of his. Nothing more than wishful thinking for days long past.

Shisui’s friends had every right to hate him and his family. The clan might be innocent of the Sandaime’s murder, but that didn’t absolve them of betraying the village by abandoning it and throwing the nation into chaos.

Shisui sighed through his nose. Such thoughts were tiring. He had better things to do.

With a brush of chakra at a seal painted into the wood, Shisui pulled open a drawer at his desk, revealing various scrolls and books. The subjects of the books were varied, ranging from a fictional novel to the history of Yūgakure. There were only five scrolls in the drawer, all coded using a complex system that incorporated all the books present, plus one other that Itachi kept — the key. To anyone without the code, the scrolls read as poetry or ninjutsu theory, but to Shisui they were on-going investigations on key members of the clan and their sympathies.

After agreeing to work with Itachi and the Godaime, Shisui had been given the task to dig up information on his family. It was a dirty job, and Shisui hated it every time he opened his mouth to ask how someone’s family was doing, but it was information Jiraiya-sama requested. Shisui was the best for the job, he already knew most of the clan and their little problems. He was the friendly, sociable one — not Itachi. If Itachi suddenly started asking after clansmen, there would be immediate suspicion.

Shisui withdrew a blank scroll from another drawer and sat down to make his newest report while the information was fresh on his mind. Shop owners, especially ones that Shisui knew personally, were always the best informants. Maybe that was why Itachi had them meet in public now; Shisui could pass on his current report to the teen while gathering information for more.

_Report #97_

_ Informant Nana contacted. Information gathered is as follows _ _…_

Shisui stayed at his desk for the remainder of the day. When he finished encrypting his newest report, Shisui pulled out one of the five scrolls — the collective one on the clan elders — to add information he received on one of them. By the time he rolled both scrolls up and locked the drawer back, it was nearing dinnertime and his mother was still out.

Guess he was making dinner tonight then.

Upon entering the kitchen, Shisui scrounged around, looking for an idea of what to make for dinner. He wasn’t the best cook in the world, nor the most enthusiastic, but his mother had made sure her children wouldn’t starve or be forced to live off store-bought meals for the rest of their lives.

Finding ingredients to make a stir fry, the easiest recipe his mother forced into his memory, Shisui set about the kitchen to make it. It always felt awkward being in the kitchen, like he was sneaking around his mother’s back. It wasn’t that he thought she belonged there, far from it, but his childhood had always seen his entire family in the kitchen at mealtime, sharing duties.

Seeing his mother alone in a kitchen that wasn’t home, or being by himself, just drove home how broken Shisui’s family had become. If he was a better son, he might try to recreate that with his mother now, ask her if she needed help. But…

Part of him wanted to preserve those memories of his sweet childhood. To not taint them with making memories when it was just he and his mother left.

Was it wrong of him? Definitely. Shisui felt like shit every time he saw his mother’s face light up when he walked into the room only to fall again when he retrieved what he came for and left.

But would he change it? Never. Home was Konoha, a selfish part of him insisted. He refused to become comfortable here among the ruins and patchwork buildings.

There was a click of the front door unlocking and being opened. His mother didn’t call out, probably expecting Shisui to still be out training or in a conference with his uncle. It was becoming rare for Shisui to be home for anything other than sleep.

Taking a deep breath, Shisui forced his mouth upwards in a sly grin and called out his greeting to her, teasing her for forgetting her manners.

Maybe he wasn’t the son he once was, genuinely happy and cheerful, but he could put on the act for her. He had to. Kaa-san had already lost her husband to the war and her eldest son to a demonic fox. He wouldn’t let her lose the last remaining memory of her family to the melancholy of his own dark thoughts.

It was the least he could do for her.

.

.

.

Another year and a half passed.

The Uchiha clan began to prosper. Where before they merely survived through pride and sheer stubborn will, foraging the surrounding lands of their ancestral home and living in its patchworked ruins, the Uchiha clan finally gained a foothold when a nearby village pooled their resources together to petition the clan for aid against raiders.

It was a small job, barely worth a C-rank in the traditional village ranked missions and not even paying that much; but the Uchiha were desperate, and it showed. A normal shinobi team would have simply killed the raiders who resisted them and be done with it. The four Uchiha who accepted the job slaughtered the raiders, even those who tried to escape, burned their stronghold to the ground, and returned the stolen goods to the grateful village.

It continued from there, escalating slowly. First it was a village, then a merchant caravan, then a town, then a traveling courtier, until the regional lord began hiring them. The Uchiha clan slowly built up its former reputation that had been lost since the Warring States era. Some clansmen rejoiced in the idea, some just shook their heads and returned to their work.

In the midst of it all, Shisui continued to hound after his cousin turned little brother figure turned co-conspirator. Before, it was just a way to keep Itachi sane, then it slowly morphed into picking away at that hard shell in hopes of finding an ally. Now it was just a pastime; Itachi was fun to mess with and Shisui grew to enjoy watching his younger cousin squirm.

But somewhere along the way, the spars Shisui had with Itachi went from saving his cousin’s sanity to saving his own. If Itachi noticed anything, he said nothing.

When he wasn’t pestering Itachi, Shisui was on the move. Fugaku-oji sent him far and wide, striking fear into those that might be a problem to the Uchiha clan’s continued existence. It didn’t matter who they were — be they bandits, enemy shinobi, or former allies from Konoha — Shisui was there, stalking them like a nightmare with the red eyes of a predator. If their screams of terror haunted his dreams it wasn’t anyone’s business, save his own.

A snapped twig caught Shisui unaware. He whipped his head around towards the threat, fingers poised to release a katon jutsu and red eyes spinning.

Red eyes stared back at him, looked extremely unimpressed. Shisui chuckled sheepishly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry, Konyo-san. Got lost in thought there for a minute.”

Konyo said nothing, just continued staring at him with that disapproving look. Shisui tried not to take it to heart, Konyo looked at everyone like that, even Fugaku-oji. Everyone knew the only one who could soften the veteran shinobi was his granddaughter.

“Hey!” Both men turned to the speaker on the ground. Hanase was standing under their tree with hands on her hips and scowling. “You gonna sit up there all day or come eat?”

Konyo grunted and nimbly jumped down, appearing to have the grace of a man twenty years his junior. On the ground, Konyo respectfully nodded to the sole woman of their team, who sneered back at him. Hanase wasn’t traditional by any means, in fact she seemed to wield her disregard for tradition like a sword, while Konyo seemed to still live in a century past. He didn’t look down on her and treated her with the utmost respect, yet it still rubbed her the wrong way.

Shisui loudly sighed and hung his head in despair. Sometimes it felt like Fugaku-oji was intentionally trying to drive him insane.

“Taichō!” Hanase shouted up at him, rather rudely too.

Shisui peered at her, dreading what she might say next.

“Taichō, you’re gonna faint if you don’t eat! I’m not carrying you scrawny ass, and the old geezer,” Konyo shot her a dark look over his stew, “is too weak to barely take care of himself so you better come down and eat, you hear me?!”

If life were like a fictional drama, one might say Hanase was a tsundere, but…

The woman threw a kunai at a bird that flew over their camp, an instant kill. It landed in the campfire.

She really was just a jerk.

“No thanks, Hanase!” Shisui called down to her, forcing a cheerful smile up on his face when she snarled. “I’ll just eat another rations bar.” 

Anything to get away from his team for a few moments longer.

Hanase didn’t argue, though she did huff and mutter under her breath about things that Shisui couldn’t hear. From the way Konyo frowned at her, he was sure he didn’t want to know. Shisui stretched out on his tree branch, nibbling at one of the bland ration bars he had brought with him.

The meal passed in relative silence, thankfully. Shisui hadn’t been lying to Itachi when he told him that he knew a lot about the Uchiha clan but was close to none of them. If he were to stretch, Shisui might claim a certain closeness to Tekka when they were all younger. He had been close to Utsuru-nii and Obito-nii-san when they were still alive, and latter had been a regular at Utsuru and Shisui’s home. But that was before the Kyūbi Attack. Afterwards, Tekka had changed.

It wasn’t very surprising. Shisui and Tekka were among the few Uchiha to lose a family member that night. Most of the clansmen had been kept out of the Kyūbi’s kill zone; those that didn’t survive were ones who didn’t obey the order to stay away. Shisui lost Utsuru-nii that night, and Tekka lost his father.

Shisui exhaled softly, balling the empty foil of his meal in one fist. It was useless to think about such things right now. He was on a mission, and even though it was just a normal scouting mission, he couldn’t let his thoughts distract him like they were.

He leapt to the ground.

“Alright, break camp. We’re heading out in five,” he ordered. The two Uchiha silently began returning the clearing to its original state.

Hanase blew a fire jutsu at the campfire, briefly turning it into a raging bonfire before the wood completely disintegrated. Using an earth jutsu, Konyo shifted the ash deep underground, leaving no sign of a campfire being there. While they destroyed the evidence of a fire, Shisui relied on his perfect memory of the clearing before they had set up camp to scatter leaves, twigs and other detritus where they had been originally found.

Task done, the Uchiha returned to the trees to continue their patrol, leaving the clearing in a near replica of how it had been when they found it.

At this point in their patrol route, they were too close to the border of Hibana, the province in which Konoha was located, to be any less cautious. Especially considering there was a Konohan outpost roughly five kilometers east of their location. Its existence was the entire reason the patrol route they were on was routinely made every week or so.

The team moved at a snail’s pace through the trees, each member with their own task. Konyo’s and Shisui’s Sharingan were activated, scanning for any disturbance in the forest. Konyo was tasked with the job of checking the traps that were due for inspection and adding chakra to Mikoto-oba’s genjutsu seals as they required it.

Unfortunately, Hanase’s mixed blood prevented her from ever unlocking the doujutsu, but her mother’s family's high sensitivity to chakra more than made up for it. She was on point for this leg of their journey; with her abilities, she would know the location of almost every shinobi nearby and could avoid them accordingly.

Scattered throughout the woods were Shisui’s crow summons. They were trained to act like ordinary crows, and a few of the smarter ones even joined the wild flocks to blend in while on the lookout for threats. To a trained jōnin it would be obvious the crows were summons, but Shisui was banking on the knowledge that most outposts within the country borders were only manned by chūnin.

A few crows occasionally flew down from where they were hidden, landing on Shisui’s shoulder while the patrol passed their stations. By low clicks and croaks whispered in his ear, the crows gave their reports before taking wing again back into the trees.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, Shisui’s team was at the peak of their patrol route, only a mere kilometer from the outpost. With chakra suppressed to civilian levels, the three Uchiha came down from the trees to walk the merchant road that passed along the province borders. They would continue down the path until they were out of the average range of any chakra sensors stationed at the outpost.

It was at this point that the crows truly showed their worth. Hanase could still sense, of course, but she once told them that it felt duller without full access to her chakra. Thus they relied heavily on the crows to give an advanced warning.

The three Uchiha were on high alert, hands twitching for weapons at the slightest sound and eyes darting. Though there wasn’t any conflict with Konoha just yet, in fact the tension had been lessening over the year, it paid to be cautious. Better to avoid giving Konoha the opportunity to act, as Fugaku-oji said.

Several times, a crow’s caw would signal the team to dive for cover — sometimes with only minutes to spare, as Konoha shinobi, either by themselves or in a unit, crossed over the road through the trees. Shisui frowned as a seventh such near encounter occurred. It was too active this far north. On patrols in the past, Shisui would consider it unlucky if his team came across even one Konoha patrol coming from the outpost.

Something had to be going on. But what?

It couldn’t have been them; with the amount of times they had been passed by, someone would have stumbled on their signatures by now. They weren’t looking for something hidden, just… something lost.

When a crow cawed for the eleventh time, Shisui finally got his answer.

As they ducked into the underbrush, a thin genjutsu cast by Shisui settled over them to deter everyone except the most determined or genjutsu sensitive, the shinobi team the crow had warned them about landed on the road.

It was a unit of five. All chūnin. Two looked freshly promoted, their flack jackets stiff and settled awkwardly on their shoulders. The lead chūnin, a balding shinobi with a mean look, snarled something under his breath, hand going to a shortwave radio on his neck. As he argued with whoever was on the other line, the remaining four relaxed a little.

The two newly minted chūnin were closest to the Uchiha. They seemed to be good friends with each other, and uncomfortable around the rest. Both chūnin started talking quietly amongst themselves, whispering complaints about being out here instead of at the outpost they were assigned to. One of them mentioned something about a defector from T&I rumored to be in the area. Well, that explained the increase of Konoha shinobi.

Shisui blinked, focus snapped to the captain. He could have sworn he heard— 

“—irmative, taichō. We’ve seen signs of someone passing through, but we’re not sure if it’s the Nara or not,” the lead chūnin was saying.

A Nara? Why would a Nara defect?

“No, sir. When we last saw them, the Yamanaka was still with him.”

Two defectors? Strange.

Though then again, perhaps not. Shisui knew through personal experience that a team with any part of the classic Ino-Shika-Cho formation was extremely loyal to each other. His brother’s genin teammates had been akin to older brothers to Shisui, even after Utsuru’s death.

The lead chūnin rolled his eyes to one of his teammates, who snorted softly. Doubtless the taichō was a pain in the ass to deal with, and they all knew it. The new chūnin pair was talking about a classmate who had been bragging about being considered for a tokujo promotion. They seemed to think he was blowing hot air.

The bald chūnin finished his conversation with the captain and took off into the trees with no fanfare. The other two veteran shinobi took after him, but the younger chūnin continued to gossip until one of the other chūnin came back to yell at them.

For several minutes, the road remained still.

Shisui lifted his head to look over his shoulder. Konyo was frowning deeply, lost in thought, and Hanase stared back at him flatly. She gave a nod when the chūnin squad had left her reduced sensing range. As they eased out of their hiding spot, another crow cackled, further down the road.

With a curse, Shisui crouched behind a tree, unable to dive under the bushes without causing a commotion. Luckily his two teammates hadn’t fully extracted themselves from the undergrowth yet and were able to duck back down.

The crow called again. Then another and another. Despite himself, Shisui felt a rush of panic; three different sightings all at once. Either it was a large group, or it was individual squads choosing this area as a meet up. Either way, the chances of his team remained undetected were slim to none.

Someone was running in their direction.

He reached a hand into his weapons pouch, fingers threading through kunai hilts.

“Halt!” Someone shouted from up in the trees. There was a dull thump as something, likely kunai, hit the dirt path.

Shisui glared into the woods. With his back against the tree, facing away from the road he couldn’t see what was going on. What he wouldn’t give to have the Byakugan right now. His eyes darted to where Hanase and Konyo were hiding. Though he couldn’t see them from where he was he could feel their eyes on him, waiting for the signal.

“Hey now,” a genial voice called out. Shisui felt his heart stutter at the sound of it. He recognized that voice! “Is that anyway to greet somebody?”

“Stand down, traitor!”

Traitor? Shisui moved his head to the right, debating the risk of leaning over to peer out from behind his tree. No, not yet. He twitched his fingers for his team to hold for a while longer.

“Me, a traitor? You’ve got it all wrong. I’m not a traitor, I’m a loyal shinobi of Konoha,” the man protested, sounding less amused now.

The other shinobi snarled something unintelligible. Chakra charged the air. Shisui made a split second decision and prayed it didn’t bite him in the ass.

He sprang up into his tree, jumping over the split in the trunk to crouch on the branches arching over the road and over the man he was saving against all common sense.

Both speakers didn’t turn to look at him, they were trained better than that, but the accuser’s squad, two teams together by the looks of it, did. Blood drained from their faces. One even shuffled a step back. Shisui felt the tree tremble slightly as his teammates joined him in the tree, standing over him like looming nightmares.

“Yo!” Shisui called down cheerfully.

The man below him startled badly and jerked around to stare up at Shisui. Shisui winked down at him. Yamanaka Santa, one of his brother’s genin teammates. Gone was the gangly teenager with the awkward long limbs and ill-fitted flak jacket that Shisui had once known. Instead a man just entering his prime stood in his place. One who stared at him like he was a ghost.

The leader of the Konohan squad growled deep in his throat, calling attention back to him. By his looks and mannerism, Shisui would guess he might be an Inuzuka. Though one without a ninken partner was rare.

“Uchiha scum. What do you want?” The man growled.

Shisui grinned. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Well I was in the area and I heard an old friend was nearby. Thought I’d come and say hi.”

His Sharingan activated, spinning quickly.

He had to give the man credit when he didn’t flinch at the sight of his doujutsu, though he did glance off to the side — focusing instead on Shisui’s cheek. 

“You wanna to fight, Uchiha?” The maybe-Inuzuka snarled.

Shisui shrugged, idly twirling his kunai around his index finger. The man focused on his hand and inwardly Shisui smirked. Perfect. 

“Not particularly,” Shisui started. As he spoke he began weaving a genjutsu around the Konoha squad, starting with the leader and branching out like a spider weaving a web to catch the rest, “But I might protest if you try to kill my friend here.”

The man stayed quiet. Through his Sharingan, Shisui saw the man replying, but in reality the squad remained still, caught in his genjutsu. Santa huffed in admiration. 

“You’ve gotten better at that trick,” he commented idly. There was something in his voice that made Shisui pause briefly, something he couldn’t identify.

No matter. Shisui jumped down behind him. “Had to be. You’d be surprised how many shinobi protest at the idea of sharing the country with the Uchiha clan. Acting like Hi no Kuni isn’t big enough for us both.”

Santa turned around. While he looked happy to see him alive, Shisui could tell by the tension in his shoulders that the Yamanaka didn’t fully trust him. He could understand that, Santa had no way of knowing that the Uchiha clan were actually innocent in the Sandaime’s assassination. He knew they looked guilty. Maybe if he could just explain to Santa, make him understand the clan was not the monsters Konoha painted them as.

Up close, Shisui could get a better look at him. Santa’s face had thinned in the years since Shisui had last seen him, appearing more angular and regal than the puffy-faced kid Shisui knew. A shadow of fine reddish-blond hair grew around his jaw and mouth, something that amused Shisui. He could recall how much of a preening peacock Santa had been as a teenager, Utsuru had certainly complained about it enough.

That wasn’t to say that the man was a complete slob, however. He still wore his sleek ginger hair in the traditional Yamanaka high ponytail that reached mid-back, but he had traded his immaculate jōnin uniform for a set of durable black pants and a dark green shirt bound at the waist by a length of beige cloth.

Shisui cocked a hip and grinned, “So, I overheard from a little birdie that there’s a Yamanaka and a Nara on the loose around here. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would ya?”

Santa said nothing, his blue eyes turning dark with distrust. His gaze darted up to Hanase and Konyo still in the tree above them. Shisui didn’t turn to look at them, but he knew both Uchiha were watching them like hawks. Neither would question him in front of an unknown, wouldn’t show any sign of not being one hundred percent on board with his plan, but that didn’t mean they would act as trusting as Shisui was.

The older man returned his gaze to Shisui, then turned to look over his shoulder at the shinobi still trapped in his genjutsu. Santa seemed to come to a decision about something. He took a deep breath.

“Shisui,” hm, no honorific at the end of his name, “out of memory of your brother, please leave. I don’t wish to fight.”

What?

Hanase and Konya descended abruptly, landing just behind him on either side. Santa shifted backwards, eyes darting to assess the new potential threat. Shisui tilted his head, grin melting into something more serious. No one was under any delusions about who had the upper hand here. Even without his team, Shisui was confident in his abilities to take the Yamanaka down if it came to that.

He prayed to every deity, both great and small, that it didn’t.

“Santa, I know what it looked like when the clan fled, but we didn’t kill the Sandaime,” Shisui started. He could feel Hanase’s eyes boring into his back, wondering what his plan was. Nothing. He had no plan, but he knew he had to make Santa understand. If only for his dead brother’s sake, Shisui needed Santa to understand.

“You think I don’t know that?” Santa snapped, cheeks flushing. “I grew up with the Uchiha clan, Shisui, I know how bullheaded you lot can get when you’re angry. But I also know most of the Uchiha don’t have a head for subtlety.”

That was probably the most insulting way someone could say that the Uchiha clan didn’t murder the Sandaime. By the offended scoff behind him, Konyo and Hanase thought so too.

“Santa, why did you and Kasuga defect?” Shisui asked, changing the subject. He didn’t bother playing ignorant to which Nara would defect with Santa, and the man made no correction. Where one was, so was the other; even after their team had been disbanded with Utsuru’s death, Kasuga and Santa remained inseparable. Shisui would frankly be offended if he found out the Nara wasn’t Kasuga.

He needed to know. Santa and Kasuga were loyal Konoha shinobi when Shisui last saw them almost three years ago. Santa acted the same as he always did, easy-going and witty but with a quick temper that often started the arguments between his genin teammates. So what had happened? What made loyal shinobi like Santa and Kasuga leave the village? Shisui almost dreaded the answer.

The Yamanaka’s brow lowered, souring his anger scowl into a loathsome glare. 

“How could you fucking ask that?” He hissed at them.

Shisui balked in the face of that spitting hatred in Santa’s dark blue eyes. This was bad. Where he could feel the tension simmering between them before, now it was at the forefront, roiling in the air like a thick heat wave.

But Santa wasn’t finished. “Why did you do it? Answer me that, Shisui. Why did your clan do it?”

“Do _what?_ ”

“Don’t play dumb. You planned it, I know you did. The Uchiha clan might be plainspoken and blunt, but you never were, Shisui. You always had an eye for assassinations.” What? What was this fool talking about?! “I wonder. How many ANBU did you kill that day? Or were you too much of a coward to show up to your planned massacre?”

Shisui blanched, mouth falling open against his will. Behind him he heard Hanase gasp. What the fuck was he talking about? The Uchiha had a strict no-kill policy when it came to Konoha shinobi. Shisui wrote it himself!

Santa took in their reactions, hate-filled eyes darting to each horror-stricken Uchiha. Slowly the vitriol anger cooled into distrustful confusion.

“Santa,” Shisui took a step forward, which Santa matched with a step back, “Santa. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I swear on Utsuru’s ashes, I didn’t do what you’re accusing me of. The clan doesn’t kill Konoha shinobi.” 

He threw his arm out, gesturing to the still-frozen squad. “We place them under a genjutsu and run. That’s all.” 

He _needed_ Santa to understand this.

Santa’s eyes searched his. Shisui stared back at him, willing every ounce of honesty into his gaze. He wasn’t a murder, at least not the way Santa was saying he was. He was still a loyal shinobi of Konoha, under all the deception. Shisui wanted to tell him that, but with two Uchiha at his back and a Konoha squad screaming at Santa about betrayal, he stayed his tongue.

“You… you really don’t know.”

Why did Santa sound so horrified at that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo this isn’t the end of the prologue. The thing got out of hand and my beta suggested to split it into two parts. I’ll be posting the second part later today.
> 
> Until then, what do you think so far?
> 
> See you in a few hours my lovelies~!


	2. Rise of a Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on we go! Buckle in, lovelies, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride! Let’s meet the final two main characters!

_Rise of a Hurricane_

* * *

_Or maybe it started like this:_

“-and I pledge that the Uchiha will pay for their heinous crimes against this village! For the deaths of my two predecessors, I will not rest until the world is purged of every red-eyed traitor. I promise you!” The Hokage exclaimed above the roaring of approval; or protest depending on who you asked.

The old man held the Hat aloft as the noise from the denizens rose. “I swear on this Hat, created by the Lady of Konoha for her husband, the Shodaime, worn by all my predecessors in times of war and peace; I swear on the symbol of my station, to extinguish all threats that rise against our beloved village! Our enemies will learn to tremble at our name! I promise you this! As the Rokudaime of Konoha, I, Shimura Danzō, swear to strike fear into every man, woman, and child who dare call us their enemy!”

The crowd's response was deafening. Bloodthirsty and ravenous they were, having been denied their justice for three years and now finally, someone was willing to stand up and grant them what they desired. It didn’t matter to most that they knew next to nothing about the new Rokudaime. He answered their unspoken hope, that was all they cared about.

Deeply hidden in the shadows of a nearby water tower, an ANBU agent watched the ongoing inauguration with intense focus. He cared not for the pretty words or the festival that would follow at dusk; he was on the watch for different matters. Twice, he had seen men thought untouchable fall to the hands of the red-eyed scum, one of whom had had an overabundance of security in the wake of the Sandaime’s murder. But the Godaime passed as easily as his predecessor; worse, for Jiraiya-sama had been stabbed in the back, literally and figuratively, at a secret peace talk with the Uchiha clan.

The ANBU agent didn’t like his new Hokage, he didn’t even trust him after having witnessed what the man was capable of, but Danzō was the third Hokage in as many years. The agent wasn’t about to let this one pass before he even put the silly hat on.

From his vantage point, the agent had an excellent view of the crowd. Each face in sharp relief, every expression memorized in milliseconds thanks to his gift. He made note of the individuals less than pleased about their Hokage, the ones that made spiteful comments under their breath or had expressions of grim resolve. Any one of them could be Uchiha sympathizers.

_> Hound-taichō, come in.<_

Agent Hound pressed his throat com, “What is it?”

The agent on the other line didn’t respond for a moment, long enough that Agent Hound nearly sent operatives to investigate, then: _> Two suspects apprehended near zone three. Both unconscious. Three kunai and five shuriken were confiscated. Orders?<_

Meanwhile, Hound signaled to two nearby agents to tail a citizen leaving the crowd before the appointed end of the ceremony. While it hadn’t been required to stay for the entire duration, it was suspicious nonetheless.

“Take one in for questioning. Dispose of the other,” Hound ordered flatly. It left a bad taste in his mouth to order the death of a potential innocent. But the Hokage’s orders were clear; there was no room in this war for softhearted fools. Missives had been pasted to every available surface that weaponry would not be allowed at the inauguration. Even a measly brace of kunai would be treated with high suspicion.

Hesitantly, the agent acknowledged Hound’s command and cut the communication without further prompt. Under the emotionless persona of ANBU Captain Hound, Hatake Kakashi howled at the injustice. He could taste the change in the air, could almost feel the darkness rolling in over the entire village as Shimura Danzō donned the mantle of Hokage. And without even lifting a finger to do so. Instead he merely had to wait as the damned traitors did all his dirty work.

Had Hound not shoved all the things that made Kakashi down deep into a locked box, he would have wondered if it were planned by the very man who now led Konoha.

The two agents returned, reporting that the woman they followed had gone to relieve herself and returned without interruptions. For the next six hours of revelry, Hound continued to monitor the crowd. Most of the altercations were settled by the police that patrolled the streets, rather harshly if Hound were to give his opinion, but that was neither here nor there.

Twice, ANBU had to intervene when the police couldn’t cut it. They were barely a blur of grey and a swirl of leaves, a blink and miss it shadow. Both instances involved weaponry the suspects had smuggled into the festival.

The rest of the night went uneventful. Despite the generally festive air, it lacked something that set it apart from normal festivals. The party-goers still drank and cheered whenever someone shouted a toast to the Uchiha demise, but Hound noticed most of the veteran shinobi kept to their own in groups no more than five. They watched the younger generations with strange expressions, some sad, some distrustful. Citizens tended to avoid shinobi in a way not seen before. A few even snarled or glared, to which the offending ninja sneered back.

By the time the moon rose above the surrounding buildings, most of the people had dispersed to go home. Normal Konohan festivals lasted long into the night, carried on by the civilians when shinobi turned in early due to their work schedule. Now it was mostly shinobi that remained when the civilians returned home.

Still and silent, having not moved from his post on the water tower support beams, Hound watched the dying festival. Some instinctual part of him, something that belonged to Hatake Kakashi, told him to remember this moment in the years to come. When he thought back on this night, he would know it was the first step to Konoha’s defeat, or salvation if one asked the right person.

But for that moment, it was just an abrupt end to a normally long night. The last person, a drunk from the new slums, was ushered away by police just after midnight. The police and ANBU continued for the rest of the night, patrolling the streets in tandem, though the police did not know it. Of the fifty disturbances that night, only thirteen were dealt with by ANBU.

After Hound made his report to the Hokage the next morning, Danzō dismissed him without further question, going as far as to move his squad off rotation for the rest of the week. As he returned to ANBU headquarters, Hound wondered why he felt so off center. Perhaps he had expected more, some sinister monologue alluding to his brief stint in ROOT, or an allusion to Danzō’s own assassination plot against the Sandaime. Instead he was swiftly dismissed.

The next few days went without incident. For all intent and purposes, Hound was just another ANBU captain, one of the forty-six. Just another masked agent, identifiable only by his unique markings on the dog mask. He hadn’t seen the Hokage during those few days of rest, but rather kept to his squad’s quarters. Most members normally donned their public face and left, leaving only Hound and Cat behind.

Hound knew he should make an appearance as Kakashi — he hadn’t been seen by the public since the Godaime’s murder and people would begin to wonder — but he couldn’t be bothered. Not with Cat in such a state as he was.

Ever since it was announced that Danzō would be taking the Hokage mantle, Cat had been beside himself. Oh he didn’t show it, his training was too good for that, but Hound knew his subordinate well enough to know that the young man was near a mental breakdown. Not for the first time, Hound wished the Sandaime, and even the Godaime, had given Cat a cover outside ANBU. If only so he could take the man away from the oppressive air of ANBU for a short while.

The bunk-room fell silent, the faint ambient sounds of metal on metal having stopped. Hound glanced up from the book of historical war tactics he was skimming over. Cat was still seated on the floor by his bunk, where he had been for the past three hours, having finished inspecting and cleaning his gear again. Both men were unmasked and dressed down to their blacks, comfortable in each other’s presence.

Cat stared hard at the metal floor in front of him, lost in thought. Hound debated whether it was wise to interrupt him, knowing that if he startled the man too badly he could end up anywhere from being scolded to impaled with a wooden stake.

“...Taichō?”

Hound returned his eye to his book, but just stared at the words without comprehending them. “Hm?”

More silence. Cat’s almond eyes, always so expressive despite the rigorous training he had undergone from a small child, were round and wide as he stared up at his captain like he was a lifeline. In a way, he was. “What’s going to happen now?”

Hound closed his eye and took a deep breath. As much as he would like to answer that question, he wasn’t sure how. Everything was wrong. It had always gone wrong, all the way back to those terrible days in the Third War. Perhaps even further. But now… it was wrong in a different way. Like he was a small child again without any control and someone was dragging him along to parts unknown.

“I don’t know,” he whispered quietly, barely heard in the silent room with just his subordinate for company.

.

.

.

The week passed. Then two. Then ten. Hound and his squad continue to take missions, handed out by the Hokage. They continue to bathe in the blood of their enemies, some of which now sport red eyes and red fans on their back. The squad changed, losing members to death or reassignment; the only constants were Hound, Cat, and Badger.

Eventually even Badger moved on. She said retirement, but all ANBU knew that agents never really retired. In her place was a younger agent, seemingly fresh from training, but lacking anything personable. When he introduced himself to the squad, Boar mask already on, Cat and Hound exchanged subtle looks.

ROOT.

Danzō was finally making his first move.

Another month passed. Boar slotted himself seamlessly into the squad, etching out the perfect niche as forward scout. Part of Hound, the part of him belonging exclusively to Hatake Kakashi, shuddered at the idea of a kid that young in ANBU. That part also found it difficult to differentiate between Boar and another young rookie. Too often Hound saw dark hair in a low tail in place of shaggy ash blonde hair.

Sometimes Hound wondered if Weasel had really been part of the ranks, or if he was just there as a spy for the Uchiha, similar to how Boar was a spy for his Hokage.

But Hound was wrong. He had been wrong before, about a great many things. And like before, his mistakes lead to death and heartbreak. Hound couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised, but it didn’t stop the pain from seeing him there. Dead.

Cat died.

Cat— _Tenzō_.

_Tenzō was dead._

Dead. Just like everyone else. Tenzō _died_.

_He wasn’t supposed to. He wasn’t allowed._

Tenzō — subordinate, friend, _the last fucking precious person of his pitiful life_ — was gone.

Distantly, Hound knew he should move, should return to Konoha in case Danzō had similar plans for him but… he couldn’t. Seeing the lifeless body slumped against his wooden creations, a kunai embedded in his throat, broke something in Hou— Kakashi.

Tenzō. His best friend, his _kōhai_. Dead. Just like the others. _Tō-san_ , and _Obito_ , and _Rin_ , and _MinatoandKushina._ All dead. All because they got too close to him.

He truly was a curse.

If he were a stronger man, he might have ended his life then. Close the book on the tragic life of Hatake Kakashi. But he wasn’t. Like the dog his mask portrayed, Kakashi was stupidly loyal. Perhaps not to Konoha itself — not anymore, not with that _monster_ wearing the hat — but there was still one person who held his leash.

Naruto.

Danzō would _never_ touch Naruto. Not while Kakashi still breathed.

His mismatched eyes — Sharingan, _gift_ , curse — drifted across the clearing to the twisted body of Boar. The enemy had attacked him first, impaling him with an earth spike and leaving the boy dangling from the sharp stone sticking through his small chest. He looked so young like that, truly a child. It pained Kakashi, knowing that all the distrust towards him was for naught; he was just a distraction to throw Kakashi and Tenzō off the scent of the true danger lurking in the dark. He was sure of it.

The more Kakashi thought about it, the more it made sense. Danzō was a wily old fox, he wouldn’t make such an obvious move against Kakashi and Tenzō, it would put their backs up. But Danzō couldn’t very well leave them alone. Tenzō had been ROOT, but Kakashi had dragged him out. He might have had the seal on his tongue, preventing him from ever revealing secrets, but Danzō was a paranoid old bastard. He hadn’t made a move on Team Ro while there stood a Hokage in his way. But now that he _was_ the Hokage, there was nothing to stop him from tying up loose ends.

Kakashi, admittedly, was untouchable. The last student of the Fourth Hokage, lauded as a once-in-a-generation genius. The last Hatake. Sharingan no Kakashi. He was too well known to be killed quietly, too good to be taken down in a skirmish. And now he was the only one with an advantage against the Uchiha.

He was valuable.

But Tenzō… Tenzō was only known as Cat. He had his name, given to him by his maybe-sister, but he had no life outside the ANBU. He might have had the wood release, but it meant nothing in the end. A successful experiment, one that could be replicated again and again if Danzō could sway Orochimaru to his side. If he hadn’t already.

How many more would fall to that madman? How many would be tossed aside because they had served their purpose and weren’t uniquely skilled enough to be kept?

There, standing in a sunny clearing with mangled corpses scattered around him, Hatake Kakashi — ANBU captain Hound — made a promise to himself that he would see Danzō answer to his heinous crimes. Even if he had to pull a page from the Uchiha’s book and murder the bastard, he would.

Eventually Hound returned to Konoha — never his home, not while the bastard ruled. He reported as was his duty, tone flat and monotone. Danzō, with all the skill of a master actor, expressed his false sorrow to Hound and gave the man an extended leave.

Stiff and lifeless as a puppet, Hound, now Kakashi, saluted and disappeared to the empty quarters of Team Ro. He stashed his gear away — no need, he was the only one with access to this room now — and donned his stale-smelling jōnin uniform.

Like always, his first stop was the Memorial Stone. He stood there for hours, reading the names of his loved ones repeatedly. His Tō-san wasn’t on this stone. His suicide might have restored honor to the Hatake clan; it did not clear him of his perceived treasonous actions. Instead Kakashi had engraved the name of his father on a river stone after Obito’s death and placed it out of sight near the base of the Stone. No one would ever see it but Kakashi knew it was there, the name of a hero.

When the sun began to creep overhead, Kakashi finally withdrew another stone from his pocket. This one was rough, vaguely conical, and colored a dark brown. He held it in one hand, eyes staring unfocused on Obito’s name, and thinking. At the time, Kakashi thought it justifiable to use the earth spike that had killed Boar as Tenzō’s personal memorial stone. Now, mind cleared of his furious battle haze, Kakashi found it disrespectful.

Despite everything, Boar had been another victim in Danzō’s schemes. But it felt even more insulting to cast the stone away for one that hadn’t been carved in that clearing. Perhaps Boar’s dried blood painting the stone could serve as his own memorial, since Kakashi didn’t know him by any other name than his mask.

Before he could second guess himself more, Kakashi reverently set the stone down beside his father’s. He stayed there for a while longer, blankly staring at the two names that felt like bookends to his tragic life. The first and hopefully the last precious person he would lose to this hellish world.

Realistically he knew it to be a pipe dream. Tenzō’s passing — _murder_ — wouldn’t the last. His wasn’t even the most jarring or violent death; those distinctions belong to both his genin teammates respectively. So long as Kakashi stood opposed to Danzō, he would continue to suffer.

But as long as it wasn’t his sensei’s little boy, he could live with it.

That’s what he told himself anyway.

Kakashi had stayed longer than usual, to the point that other mourners had come and gone. Instead of leaving like he normally did at the first sign of someone else, Kakashi simply retreated to the trees, to wait patiently for them to leave, and returned. It was nearly dusk before someone came looking for him specifically.

Surprisingly, it was neither Gai or Tsume-san.

Kakashi’s nose twitched at the telling hint of cigarette smoke, but otherwise he didn’t move. Asuma halted beside him, exhaling a plume of smoke as he did so. The two men stood there for a long moment, both lost in their own thoughts with eyes only for the Stone before them.

“Thought you died,” Asuma commented after a while.

If Kakashi hadn’t been a shinobi since he was five, he might have laughed. “Thought you were in the capital.”

Asuma shrugged, “I was. Came back after the old man was killed.”

Kami, had it really been that long since Kakashi interacted with his peers? He hadn’t meant for it to go that long. But… the Sandaime had died and Jiraiya-sama needed him to exert control, to show that Konoha was still dangerous despite the other countries knowing that their Hokage had been killed and they couldn’t even catch the perpetrators.

Kakashi considered telling Asuma everything. To pour his heart out to someone who still cared about it. But something stopped him. Maybe it was just his crippling unsociable skills, but maybe it was something more instinctual that stayed his tongue. He wasn’t sure anymore.

“Listen,” Asuma said with a sigh when it was obvious that Kakashi wouldn’t say anything else. He laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “A few of our group are meeting up at Teru’s later this week. I’m sure they’d like to see you. Y’know, be nice that they have physical proof you’re still alive.”

Kakashi turned his head so he met the gaze of his… friend? Comrade? Asuma flinched a little at whatever he saw in Kakashi’s visible eye. His brows pinched inward in concern, and hand tightened minutely on his comrade’s shoulder. 

“Kakashi?” Asuma said his name tentatively.

Kakashi looked back at the Stone, picking out the tiny flaked peak of Tenzō and Boar’s personal memorial stone hidden among the growing grass at the base.

“Kakashi, are you alright?” Now why did Asuma sound so concerned? It wasn’t like him, Asuma was laid back and easygoing by nature.

The grip on his shoulder grew almost painful and Kakashi had to squash the instinct to lash out with deadly intent. It wasn’t an enemy. It was Asuma. Concerned friend. Comrade. Whatever.

_Tenzō was the only one who was affectionate towards him anymore_.

But Tenzō was dead.

“…Dead.”

Asuma blinked three times in rapid succession. Kakashi’s voice was so faint, like the whisper of a ghost. “Who’s dead?” He asked reluctantly.

“He’s dead,” Kakashi said again.

Once more, Asuma asked for a name, but Kakashi stayed silent. He hadn’t been speaking for Asuma’s sake, but himself. Tenzō was dead. His body had been burned to ashes and left to scatter to the wind on their own accord, along with the ashes of the other corpses in that dreaded clearing. Cat, Boar, Trout, Raccoon, and Beetle. The five assassins. Only Hound remained. As he always did, at the end of things.

Under the tilt of his Hitai-ate, Kakashi felt tears build in Obito’s eye. Kakashi remained unable to express his emotions, too indoctrinated in the rules of a shinobi. But Obito had always been freer with his tears.

Asuma seemed to be having an emotional crisis of his own. Despite his downward spiral, Kakashi couldn’t help but admire his peer. He really had grown up. When they were younger Asuma would flail about, stuttering and begging the person not to cry, before running off to find someone more emotionally stable than him to deal with the problem. Now, while he did look to be struggling, he wasn’t looking for a way out.

Finally gathering himself, Asuma took a deep breath to steady his nerves. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly. The words seemed paltry, but Kakashi could tell they were spoken from the bottom of Asuma’s heart. Asuma’s hand squeezed gently in silent comfort before falling back to his side. “I’m serious about the offer, Kakashi. I know you hate sweets, but come anyway. Thursday, six o’clock.”

With that Asuma left. It wasn’t long after that Kakashi finally found the strength to do the same.

Strangely enough, when Thursday came creeping along, Kakashi found himself walking the main stretch towards Teru’s Dango. He told himself it was just a coincidence. Going by Teru’s stand was the quickest path between his apartment and the Memorial Stone.

Though, the more honest part of him whispered, Kakashi typically took a slightly longer path to avoid the crowds.

Kakashi stopped walking. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. He was just desperate for human contact, especially after Cat— after Tenzō had passed. He hadn’t seen his classmates in almost three years, apparently, and he didn’t even realize. They wouldn’t want to see him, no matter what Asuma said, they had— 

“KAKASHI!”

His honed instincts took over and he sidestepped before he could be bowled over by Gai. The man flew past him, barely more than a green streak. Just as quick, the smear of color stopped and spun around like a coin.

Kakashi shoved his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking and blinked slowly. Gai hadn’t changed, not in the way that truly mattered. He still dressed in that garish green jumpsuit — tailored to his new height and physique. He still blinded people with the toothy grin that a more instinctual part of Kakashi always saw as a challenge, and still stood with a shoulder-wide confident stance. It was like he had stepped out of Kakashi’s memories. Not even the deaths of two — _three_ — Hokage could dampen this man’s spirits. It was… comforting in a way.

“Hello, Eternal Rival! It has been Too Long since Our Dearest Comrades and I have seen you, we were Worried!” Gai exclaimed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Kakashi managed to force a hello back at Gai, even though all of him wanted to run and hide like the coward he was. He wasn’t sure if he could do this.

The rest of their classmates were coming out of the shop, drawn by Gai’s tirade of his ‘hip and cool’ attitude, preventing Kakashi’s escape. Asuma, Genma, Raidō, and Kurenai. Asuma, Kakashi had seen him earlier this week. Genma and Raidō, he often saw wandering the Hokage Tower, though he saw Raidō’s mask more often than his uncovered face.

Kurenai, however, he hadn’t seen in years. Maybe even before the death of the Sandaime. They hadn’t really operated in the same circles; they were friends with the same people — the same survivors — but that was where their interactions ended. Maybe it would be different if Rin had lived; she had been good friends with Kurenai, hadn’t she?

Not that Kurenai let that stop her from acting like they had always been the best of friends. She came up to him confidently, a friendly smile on her round face. 

“I’m surprised you came,” she said. By the teasing glint in her eyes, Kakashi knew she didn’t mean anything by it. He also knew that she had a good reason for saying it; but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

He shrugged. Once more he felt like the awkward boy he had once been, unable to open up to his peers.

Kurenai didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps she did and chose to ignore it. “I was just telling the boys that we should have gone to Yakiniku Q instead, I know how you hate sweets.” 

She casually tucked her hand around Kakashi’s arm, like it was an everyday occurrence. They both knew it was to stop him from leaving.

Rin used to do that.

Kakashi let Kurenai escort him into Teru’s instead of substituting away like he wanted to. The other three — Gai had disappeared somewhere and Asuma waved away all questions about his whereabouts, saying he’d be back shortly — made casual conversation for a while over dango. They didn’t try to force Kakashi to participate, but they didn’t ignore him either.

Genma made a few snide remarks that had Raidō giving him a sharp elbow to the ribs. Asuma and Kurenai drifted off into their own private conversation. Gai returned with a grocery bag filled to the brim with light, healthy snacks for Kakashi. He didn’t eat any of them — he wasn’t in much of the mood to tease his comrades with the possibility of seeing his lower face — but he did quietly thank Gai and kept the bag at his feet.

They never brought up Kakashi’s extended absence. Asuma didn’t mention their conversation earlier this week. Raidō said nothing on Team Ro’s untimely demise. No one talked about the Uchiha and how the tensions were getting worse.

It was peaceful.

A lie, but it felt peaceful all the same.

.

.

.

When Kakashi’s extended leave ended two weeks later, Danzō summoned him. Once more shoving aside all things that made him Hatake Kakashi and became the ANBU Captain Hound, he made his way to the Hokage’s Office.

Unlike the Sandaime, who used the Sunrise Room as the Hokage’s Office so he had the stunning view of his village spread out behind him, or the Godaime, who used the same out of respect, Danzō had claimed a nondescript, windowless room somewhere in the middle of the Tower.

The change had been abrupt and without reason. Perhaps it was to set himself apart from his predecessors, or perhaps it was his paranoia peeking through; no one had a real answer. Though in the privacy of his mind, Hound thought it was a bit of both.

The Office itself was grey. Grey unpainted walls, grey steel desk, and grey concrete floor. The only seating was the Hokage’s chair, something practical that didn’t look at all comfortable. The desk itself had more life to it than the room, with two trays for incoming and outgoing documents, a clock, and a small pot containing a barren bonsai tree. The large wall scroll with the kanji for ‘Hokage’ hanging center on the innermost wall was the only thing that indicated this was the office of the village leader. The entire place was made to feel intentionally unwelcoming; it was meant for secret meetings with ANBU and little else.

Danzō clearly wanted his subjects to know that this wasn’t the old Konoha. The Hokage was no longer an approachable leader with whom the only thing in someone’s way was an appointment and a stubborn secretary — he was the head of a militant government leading a war against one of Konoha’s founding clans.

The man himself was seated at the desk, reading reports. Such a menial, normal task for a man who regularly brainwashed children to the point where they would be willing to be a distraction and then die when they weren’t needed anymore. It was like watching a Bijū politely ask for tea. Absurdity at its finest.

Hound took a knee silently, raising his fist to his chest in a salute. Several minutes passed without acknowledgment, just the awkward sound of two men breathing and the quiet tick of the clock echoing inside a windowless office space.

One thousand, eight hundred and sixty-four seconds passed before Danzō finally set his pen down.

“Reviewing the mission report, I have come to a decision,” Danzō started apropos to nothing. Hound tensed, prepared for the worst. “You are too skilled to be retried from the ranks, and your mask has a certain… reputation that another operative would struggle to match if they took it. Topped with your near impeccable mission record, it would be foolish to kick you from the program.

“But I don’t trust you.” The feeling was mutual. “The Yondaime made a mistake with you, letting you grow up to be headstrong and willful — now it is too late to train you to be anything else.” 

Kakashi had to bite his tongue to keep from growling; how dare this tyrant even speak of Minato-sensei!

On the outside, Hound remained kneeling — completely impassive to the insult.

Danzō leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, good hand raising to hold his chin as he thought. “You won’t be returning to the field; I have a different task for you.”

Hound felt like his heart had been squeezed harshly. He gulped.

Danzō continued as if it were just another normal conversation to be had. For him, it probably was. “The Uchiha situation requires a delicate touch, something that is not suitable for my ROOT agents. I knew that _that boy_ would be too soft to do anything, so I started a program in the eventuality that he failed. In order to defeat the Uchiha filth, we must first gain their trust and collect intelligence.”

Spying? Was Danzō going to turn him into a spy? It would never work, Kakashi was too well known for any undercover work.

“My agents just lack one last lesson.” Danzō turned his steely gaze on Hound; specifically, the left eye-hole of his mask.

The glowing red eye behind it widened.

* * *

_Or, possibly, like this:_

When Kaoru was small, she dreamed of being like her shinobi uncle, a front line kenjutsu specialist with flashy signature moves. In her childhood daydreams she was known throughout the country, written in every single bingo book. She often imagined what her nickname would be. Whirlwind Kaoru had been her personal favorite, but Bōfū no Kaoru had been another. A force of nature, too fast and quick to be caught by her enemies — that was what she wanted to be famous for.

How naive.

Kaoru shouldered her bag and left her bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

It was early in the morning. No one awake yet, not even her mother was up to begin cooking breakfast. Instead of losing time to fix a proper meal, Kaoru took a nut and grain bar her mother kept as snacks for the family, like she did every morning. Ever since she started her training at the hospital just after graduation, Kaoru was always leaving the house before the sun had time to rise over the village walls.

The walk from her family home in the civilian housing district to the hospital was quite a long one, but Kaoru never minded it. She had time to reflect, she would rationalize to herself, time to enjoy the quiet of the pre-dawn morning.

Market stall owners and store employees she passed by every morning paused in their daily routine to greet her, to which she returned with a small wave and smile. Kaoru truly enjoyed this part of the morning. No matter how much her friends teased her for walking like a civilian, Kaoru would never change it. She felt closer to the citizens this way; not just a faceless shinobi doctor among many, but one that the locals knew by name and sight. One they trusted.

And soon it would all end.

Kaoru wouldn’t let the intrusive thought ruin her quiet contentment. She learned long ago that thoughts like that were useless and were to be ignored, regardless of how true they might be. She forcefully turned her focus to her shift today.

Unfortunately, she had been scheduled for the recovery wing again. While normally, Kaoru wouldn’t mind a week or two every quarter period — as was normal — this would mark the fourth week in a row since her most recent probation had ended. Migaki tried to make a joke of it, saying the head medics knew Kaoru had a way with the unruly patients. But they both knew it was an unreasonable punishment. Everyone who had been on probation had pulled the same recovery wing shifts.

Her friend Oyone said to look at the silver lining — Kaoru was getting good at dealing with patients who didn’t listen.

Most of her time was spent wrangling wily shinobi into their beds. But in between saccharine coated threats and the occasional anesthetic, Kaoru was changing dressings, checking dosages, and rarely offering a shoulder to those that needed it.

Yesterday, a particularly foul-tempered kunoichi recovering from heavy burns had attempted to throw the lunch tray at her, then broke down into ugly sobs. With a few comforting words and gentle inquiries, the woman eventually revealed that her boyfriend had gone missing while on a mission a month ago, and the commander had finally updated his status from missing-in-action to traitor.

The kunoichi was seventeen weeks pregnant.

By the time Kaoru dried the woman’s tears and reassured her nothing would leave the room, the kunoichi was in better spirits than she had been all week. Kaoru even got her to giggle a little at a corny medical joke. It was a gentle reminder of why she became a medic. Why she gave up her childhood dream of being a famous kenjutsu expert for a thankless, exhausting job.

The employee room of the hospital was a stark contrast to the quiet outside. Nurses and medical staff of all ranks and ages were tripping over each other to change from their street clothes into the beige uniforms of a Konoha iryo-nin, and vice versa for the night crew. A group of seven rushed in at that moment, fresh from a surgery by the amount of blood on their clothes, to change into something cleaner. A trainee was huddled in the corner half undressed, looking traumatized. Kaoru doubted he would last the week if this scared him.

Unbothered by the hustle, Kaoru calmly walked to the nook she shared with Oyone and another coworker. Both girls were missing. Oyone was the type of person to be two hours early to everything and the coworker was a night shift nurse who had likely already left for the day. With her back to the crowd, Kaoru started to undress.

Shinobi were trained to be desensitized to naked bodies. Prudishness had no place in a society that lived off spilling blood for money. The life of a hospital had even less room for such notions; one tended to lose that squeamishness once their hands were the only thing keeping a man’s intestines in his body where they belonged. But even so, Kaoru remained at her nook with her elbows tucked in and made conservative movements to minimize the amount of flesh she showed.

Kaoru finished buttoning her overcoat up to her chin. She paused in front of the mirror the night shift nurse had nailed to the back of the cubbyhole, looking at the woman she grew up to be. She looked so professional. Every corner of her uniform was crisp and spotless from her standard black sandals to the skintight medical hood and cap covering her brown hair. She stood straight and tall, holding herself with confidence that she didn’t feel.

But she looked tired. Kaoru always did these days; it wasn’t hard not to be. Her family understood, they were proud even. 

‘Look at my daughter,’ her father’s eyes said whenever he looked at her, ‘a hard working medical ninja.’ 

‘I wish she would sleep better, but with the long hours she pulls it must be hard,’ her mother’s concerned frown read. 

‘I want to be hard working like Nee-chan!’ was in her little sister’s wide grin.

In the end they were wrong. The heavy bags under Kaoru’s navy eyes weren’t due to long shifts pulled at the hospital, though that is what her timecard and paycheck said. Instead they spoke of another, more insidious job.

If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the day she agreed to it.

Intrusive thoughts. Kaoru exhaled softly through her nose. Intrusive thoughts.

She left the changing room, now indiscernible from the hundreds of her fellow coworkers. Just one nurse among many.

As one of the nurses assigned to the recovery wing, Kaoru was immediately put to work as soon as she crossed the threshold of the wing. Room 127 was requesting more reading material (suitable age and rank range was genin to low chūnin, ages twelve to fifteen, suggesting a second year genin laid up from a bad mission). Room 075 was being delivered flowers. Room 904 was attempting another escape (quite creative, almost talked their way out of the hospital — likely a T&I interrogator). Room 040, Room 399 (allergic reaction to a protein in her drip, epileptic shock), Room 248, Room 005, on and on it went until the mid-morning shift switch and suddenly Kaoru was guiding the three trainees in the wing that week through procedures for working in Recovery.

All three genin were direct from the genin corps, as most trainees were. Two were from the newly graduated class, eager and doe-eyed, but one was a genin team washout from last year with a chip on her shoulder. Kaoru had her hands full with all three of them, but she had been doing this for almost seven years now. There was nothing they could say or do that would phase her anymore.

Not even when Gyuko-kun dropped a tray of sanitized surgery tools, cut her foot open, and ended up being a patient herself.

Still, when her lunch came, Kaoru passed the remaining two trainees off to another nurse and ran — walked calmly and sedately at a quick pace — for the nearest break room. She claimed an empty table at the back of Break Room 4 and put her head down in her arms with a sigh.

It wasn’t that she hated children. Quite the opposite, in fact. Being the eldest sibling and oldest cousin by a relatively large age gap meant she had grown up babysitting her sister and cousins more often than she spent time with her friends. Oftentimes she just dragged her charges along, not wanting to miss out on the next crazy thing.

But the fact remained that children weren’t meant to be in a high stress environment like a shinobi hospital. It didn’t matter that shinobi children mature quicker than civilians; an eleven-year-old didn’t have the emotional capacity or a quick enough reaction time to safely work here.

A light tap on the table alerted her to a new presence. Wearily, Kaoru lifted her head to stare at Migaki standing over the table. He took a seat and pushed the canned coffee he had set down closer to her arm. “Here.”

“Too much caffeine,” she immediately rejected and went to bury her head back in her arms. She didn’t want to stay awake, she wanted to sleep.

Kaoru could practically feel Migaki roll his eyes. He had a certain way of doing it, rolling his whole head in exaggeration. Dramatic. That’s what he was, dramatic. “Just drink it, I saw you this morning. You look like death warmed over.”

Were Kaoru a different person she might have sniped back a sarcastic comment about his bedside manner. Oyone definitely would have, if she shared their lunch hour. But Kaoru wasn’t Oyone, she was just Kaoru. Quiet, calm Kaoru.

She kept her head down.

Even when Migaki ghosted the warm can against her arm, as a temptation or punishment, Kaoru didn’t really know, she remained still. Her friend eventually scoffed at her and cracked the can open for himself. For several minutes their table was quiet, the only sound was from Migaki’s occasional sip of coffee and rustle of paper as he flipped through the files he brought with him.

Peaceful.

“Hey Kaoru,” Migaki started. “What am I supposed to do if a civilian woman comes in with her youngest saying the eldest injured him in a fight?”

Kaoru peeked over her arms at the man. He was frowning softly at a report, faint confusion pulling at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

“Is the older child a shinobi?”

“Hm, no, academy student.”

“And the youngest?”

“Still a civilian. I don’t think the mother’s gonna enroll him in the classes. Didn’t indicate anything about it.”

Kaoru sat up, chewing at her lip and thinking it over.

The Rokudaime had changed so many policies in regard to civilian treatment, it was hard to keep track of what was allowed and what wasn’t anymore. Before his reign, everything injury-related was dealt with by the hospital and whether it was serious or not determined if there was a warrant to use medical chakra. But over the first year since Danzō took power, it slowly changed.

First it was the opening of smaller clinics in the civilian districts to ‘lessen the wait time and crowds.’ Then it was training civilians in first aid to fill those clinics. Then limiting the types of emergencies, the hospital would deal with. Slowly and slowly, more policies were put into place until the civilians were all but banned from the shinobi hospital. Now the newest policies were toeing the line between what kind of shinobi were allowed treatment by medical professionals and which were to be handled by barely trained nurses.

Migaki suffered more than most. He specialized in childcare, specifically academy and genin related injuries, and with the newest policies his position was under threat of being disbanded. All the appeals he and his fellow pediatricians filed through the Hospital Committee and even the Three Councils were buried under so much paperwork that nothing could ever be done about it. All they could do was watch as their jobs became obsolete.

Kaoru hummed, wishing Oyone was here. She would be able to give the correct answer — she was the prodigy among the three of them after all. Kaoru didn’t doubt that Oyone had already memorized the newest policies and could probably give the correct citation in the updated handbook they had all received three days ago.

She glanced at Migaki. He had a strange look in his eyes, glaring down at the report as if it personally offended him. Upset. He was upset about something, and Kaoru would bet a month’s worth of coupons to Takano’s Fish that it was the Rokudaime’s policies at play. There was something unsettling about seeing the reserved but friendly man so stressed. Like a toddler with jaded eyes.

“I _think_ treatment is still allowed in this situation,” Kaoru finally said. She might be correct, but not for long. If it was allowed today, it might not be tomorrow. “Depending on how serious the injury is.”

Her former classmate turned coworker hummed under his breath, probably not having heard her. He was still looking at the report, dark eyes flicking left then right, up and down as he took in different parts of the report. He placed the report face down then picked up another, mouth growing pinched as he read that one over.

Kaoru laid her head back down but tilted her head just enough to the side that she could watch him from the corner of one eye. He was up to something. She knew it, but she didn’t know what it was. Over the last few months Migaki had grown increasingly private. He still sat with her during their lunches, and whenever she was free from other obligations, Migaki was always up for a night out with her and Oyone. But something had changed. He was beginning to distance himself from his friends, little by little.

So she watched him when she could. If he knew she was paying close attention, he didn’t show it. In fact, Migaki seemed perfectly oblivious to her keen eyes.

Thirty minutes into their hour-long lunch, an alarm sounded calling for all surgical and general staff to attend to Intensive Care Gamma. Kaoru left the break room in a run, alongside two others.

After they were scrubbed in and waiting for the incoming injured, the lead medic quickly gave an overview. The patients were from the remains of a mixed rank squad, having run afoul with a bandit warlord in the Kawa no Kuni. Gossip among the waiting nurses said that the bandit stronghold, a mine of all places, was taken out and the warlord killed, but not before decimating the original team and half the backup sent to deal with him.

The remaining shinobi were barely alive when they arrived.

Swarms of nurses descended on them, prying half-fried men and women off the backs of their teammates, some of whom collapsed as soon as their feet hit the tiled floor. All of them were ushered onto rolling gurneys, with the mass of nurses splitting off into prearranged groups for each patient. Kaoru was assigned to a woman with a gash in her shoulder. It looked like someone had taken a meat hook to the shoulder and pulled as much flesh off the bone as they could.

The gurneys were rushed down the hall of IC Gamma in a single file; at each available operating room, a group would peel off the line and disappear all the way up until all eighteen patients were in their own room.

Kaoru’s group entered room G-OR-22 and she, along with a nurse of her group named Sotan, pushed the gurney up to the operating table while the other three — the lead nurse of the operation, Jun, and two others — began the initial prep. Sotan and Kaoru lifted the gurney mat to the table, causing the woman to scream in pain when her shoulder was jostled. Sotan immediately began attaching various needles and electrodes to the patient while Kaoru turned to help the other nurses with prep.

With the sudden and large influx of patients, the medics wouldn’t be available to every one of them, so the veteran nurses stepped up to lead the operations on the less dire injuries. Jun, a gray-haired woman who had been stitching up shinobi for longer than any of the others had been alive, was the obvious choice for the lead nurse.

The patient screamed and thrashed when one of the nurses began cleaning the wound. She wasted no time being gentle about it. Blood loss was a high risk with this patient. They had to move quickly.

Someone cursed when a flailing arm caused her to drop the blood bag she was trying to hang. The needle attached to it clinked softly against the floor. Sotan grabbed the bag from the floor and tossed it to Jun who yanked the needle out and threw it away. The bag was placed aside, to be reattached with a new needle at a later date.

Kaoru pushed the instrument stand up to the table, within reach of Jun’s position. She remained where she was, preparing to be Jun’s second in the operation. The other male nurse placed his glowing green fingers at the patient’s temples, using his medical ninjutsu to put the woman under.

Once the initial dramatics were out of the way and the patient was unconscious, the operation was relatively peaceful. With a new blood pack and another, yellowish bag of plasma hooked into her arms, the greatest risk of a fatality was over and done with.

The youngest nurse — fresh from training by the looks of her pallid face — finished the last wound flush and moved aside for Jun to take her place. She and Sotan drifted off to the counter that stretched along the back wall, cleaning up what had been disturbed in their rush. Everyone spoke in soft, hushed tones or said nothing at all.

Kaoru looked down at the patient’s slack face. She was extremely pale and sallow, a result of the blood loss. There was a nasty bruise on her forehead, extending down to her jaw. By the shape and lacerations among the bruised skin, Kaoru would guess she had been kicked in the face. The bone plating around her right eye looked fractured, but the damage looked minimal. Kaoru made a mental note to inform a medic of the fracture — they would need to examine her eye later.

The woman’s hair was a burned, ashy mess. Kaoru didn’t know what the original length might have been, but she estimated the current hair length might be just below her shoulder blades now. Once they cut away the charred strands, it would probably be only to her collarbone. There was a chunk missing from her scalp, the skin scabbed over horribly. Likely whoever fought her had grabbed her hair and ripped a chunk from her head when she escaped the hold.

Looking further down the woman’s body, Kaoru cataloged all broken bones and minor injuries that would need to be taken care of once the life-threatening shoulder tear was taken care of. Broken ankle, possible sprained wrist and dislocated hip. Five gashes — two on the right arm, one on her dislocated hip, one along her jaw, and the last at her side possibly extending to her back. An innumerable amount of bruises and minor lacerations. Shrapnel embedded in her lower legs.

This poor woman had been through hell. Her whole squad had. It wasn’t often these days that squads of regular shinobi came in like this. Whoever they fought must have been truly powerful. Definitely a shinobi, possibly a high-ranked missing nin. From Kumo maybe? Many of the burns looked electrical, it was plausible.

Jun cut the thread after the last stitch was done. She had healed most of the deeper tissue damage with chakra, but only to the point of guaranteed survival. The rest was stitched up and bandaged. Kaoru dealt with that as Jun moved on to the other, troubling injuries.

When the woman was healed to a certain extent, Kaoru helped Sotan move her back to the gurney and stood back as Sotan wheeled her off to the recovery unit — taking the young nurse with him. The remaining nurse stayed behind to oversee the cleaning staff (loom over them as they sanitized the room to make sure they did it to his standard more like), while Kaoru and Jun went to make their reports to the medic over all the operations.

A clock they passed in the hall read twelve minutes past six. Five hours in the surgery room. Kaoru hadn’t even noticed.

Her stomach decided to quietly remind her of the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything all day aside from the nutrition bar she had taken from the kitchen this morning. She smiled placidly when Jun turned to look at her with an eyebrow raised. She made no excuses, didn’t feel the need to when she hardly knew the woman.

Jun shook her head and continued on. When they passed a nook with vending machines, Kaoru paused briefly to buy a bag of mixed nuts to munch on. They dried her mouth out tremendously, but a quick stop at a water fountain cured that as well.

The two women entered a small meeting room. Seven other groups were already there, milling around IC Gamma’s supervisor. Both Jun and Kaoru reported that the patient was expected to live and currently resting in the recovery wing. The supervisor thanked them and informed Jun to place the woman on the blue rotation before dismissing them.

Kaoru didn’t stay to mingle like the other nurses. She silently returned to her routine as if the five hours hadn’t happened.

Five more hours passed with attempts to make stubborn shinobi follow medical orders. One shinobi in particular was exceptionally trying. He had been awake for his procedure and was very cross as a result. He spewed vile insults and biting remarks, enough to make one of the rookie nurses burst into tears when she made her rounds. When it was Kaoru’s turn, she just smiled calmly and went about her business checking his dressing and vitals, ignoring every spiteful comment that came out his mouth.

At exactly ten, Kaoru returned to the changing station. The night shift was a steady stream of people coming in, as opposed to the morning shift’s clogged masses, which made for a less busy employee room. After changing into her street clothes, Kaoru dumped her scrubs into her assigned hamper and left.

Instead of returning home immediately, as one would expect, Kaoru meandered through the late night market first. It was noisy on the streets — vendors were calling out sales that slowly increased in an attempt to sell the remainder of their products before heading home; and over the din of the crowd, children were heard playing various games. The streets were lit with a warm glow from the streetlights overhead, interrupted occasionally by the bright fluorescence of store signs.

Kaoru entered one such store a quarter after ten. A teenage store clerk was boredly flipping through a magazine at the counter. He mumbled something about the closing time, but didn’t bother to look up. The only other person in the store was a middle-aged man who was examining the store’s drink selection at the back.

She wandered through the aisles for a few moments, idly scanning the brightly packaged sugary snacks lining the shelves. At ten twenty, the store clerk came over the intercom saying the store would be shutting down in ten minutes. The sole other customer left without buying anything then. At ten twenty-four, Kaoru saw the clerk get up from the counter and go into the back room.

Immediately she headed to the customer bathroom. A hand-written sign taped to the faded blue door said it was out of order, but she picked the lock and ducked inside anyway. The bathroom walls were tiled with small dark grey squares and streaked with dirt. The concrete floor was rough, and her shoes scraped softly as she stepped further into the room. A single toilet was shoved up against the wall, rusted and grimy. Across from it was a cracked mirror above a broken sink.

Kaoru locked the door behind her. Moments later the employee jiggled the handle and, satisfied it didn’t move, left. The light shining from under the door turned off and Kaoru could hear the outer doors being locked, followed by the rattle of the security gate.

Now alone, Kaoru walked up to the mirror. It was dull from age and disuse, but the bottom right still gleamed brightly. A small etching was scratched into that corner, so light it was easily missed. Kaoru ran her thumb over the etching, pushing her chakra into it.

A quiet rumble to the left of her, and the innermost wall of the bathroom lowered to reveal a set of stairs cut into the stone, leading down a dark passage.

Kaoru took a deep breath. Momentarily, she weighed the idea of just leaving. Just turning around, breaking a window, and going home to her family. But like every night, she didn’t, she _couldn’t_. She started down the unlit stairs into the gloom.

After roughly a minute of walking, she came to another door, this one made of wood reinforced with steel. A small window was cut into the door, at eye level, with a sliding door to keep snoops from peering inside. She knocked.

The window slid open to reveal a pair of flat, emotionless eyes. Kaoru stared back blankly, waiting.

The slide snapped shut again. Kaoru could hear four metal deadbolts being opened, followed by two bursts of chakra to release separate chakra locks. The door finally opened.

The stairs and corridor that ended with the wood door were narrow, barely enough room for a person of a slim stature like Kaoru to fit through. But beyond the door was a wide cavern, lit by gas lights hanging from the rough dirt walls. Along the walls was a stock-hold of various items. Stacks of scrolls, several rolls of explosive seals, boxes of kunai and shuriken, alloy plates that would be formed and covered with cloth to form ANBU armor. There were enough items to outfit an army.

Aside from herself, the only other person in the cave was the man who opened the door. He was crouching profile to her, sorting through a pile of ceramic. A kunai was within easy reach if she tried anything.

Kaoru ignored it all and continued her way.

The natural cave system eventually gave way to cut stone halls and metal walkways. More and more people, all with dull eyes and blank expressions, were seen. Sometimes in pairs, sometimes by themselves. They all had somewhere to be and no one stopped to talk with each other. It was eerie, but nothing Kaoru wasn’t used to.

Kaoru briefly ducked into an empty room to change from her street clothes into something better suited. From inside her shoulder bag, Kaoru pulled out a pair of black pants and a long-sleeved top. She gathered as much of her short, shoulder-length hair as she could and pulled it back into a high tail. On her face went a bone-white mask. Not ANBU standard, not even ROOT standard, but it was enough to hide her identity from the others.

She left her bag in the room; there wasn’t anything in it she was truly worried about losing. It was just a part of her public disguise.

It was only a short walk to her destination. This room was different from the others. Unlike those, which gave vague impressions of what they were used for based on what furniture was in them, this one was set up just like an academy classroom.

The seats were raised in tiers of five and split into three sections with four seats per each desk. At the front of the class, a deep green chalkboard took up the entire wall. From top to bottom, the board was filled with tightly controlled writing and excellently drawn diagrams. Instead of a teacher's desk, there was only a solid wood lectern placed at the center.

Of the sixty seats available, only nine were already occupied. All wore the same thing. Black pants, black shirt, bone-white mask. No one turned to look at her entrance, they remained staring forward, still as statues. She took a seat in the third row, middle section. Most people tended to avoid the middle sections, not enjoying the potential threat of those behind them. She didn’t mind. She didn’t care.

After another three came in, bringing their count to thirteen, and found seats, an ANBU agent entered and locked the only door behind him.

Everyone unconsciously straightened in their seats. They knew him. They hated him.

ANBU agent Rabbit. His mask was made intentionally crafted to look cartoonish with its puffy cheeks and molded buck teeth. It looked like a mask for children one might find at a festival, sweet and innocent. The only clue to the monster under it was the splash of reddish-brown paint that was smeared across the top of the mask in the shape of a smudged handprint.

Though whether it was actually paint or dried blood was anyone’s guess.

Rabbit stopped at the lectern and tilted his head in greeting. No one moved to return it. The agent turned around and began wiping away at the board with one hand and writing the same cramped writing with the other.

She and the others sat there, still and silent, staring intently at the bored, memorizing each line that was written down. If they couldn’t recite it back verbatim at the end of the night there would be consequences. Painful ones.

The lesson that night was leading to something. Instead of the normal lessons in history, theories, and tips of interrogation and undercover spying, Rabbit instead wrote out everything the village knew about the Uchiha — their history, battle tactics, known members _(it hurt seeing the name_ ‘Uchiha Shisui’ _written near the top)_ , and what they were known for. Even some of their clan-specific myths were written in a cramped corner.

But despite the small, neat writing, despite the blackboard filled frame to frame in hiragana and kanji, there wasn’t much information. Most of what was written was the history. There were a few common battle tactics the Uchiha clan had developed over the four years since their betrayal, some known jutsus that prominent members of the clan used, but little else. The token diagram of the Sharingan was nothing more than a normal medical cross-section, but with the three tomoe drawn in the iris.

This was why they were here. To gain a foothold in the war, one had to know their enemy. Any shinobi clan was already highly secretive when it came to their techniques, but the Uchiha were more so. Like the Hyūga, and the Senju when they existed, the Uchiha had a prized kekkei genkai that had been coveted by others for centuries. They guarded its secrets jealously.

The entire reason for the class to be there in the dead of night, lying to their families and friends about where they were, was to end the war. And to do that, one had to know their enemy.

.

.

.

The mask came off.

Kaoru swallowed back the bile building in the back of her throat. She wrapped her dark outfit around the mask and put them at the bottom of her bag.

Soon it would be done, she kept telling herself. _Soon_.

Leaving the main cavern, Kaoru came out from a supply closet in the Hokage Tower. She had one final stop to make before being released.

At this time of night, just past midnight, hardly anyone was walking the halls of the Tower. On her walk up to the Hokage’s office three floors above her, Kaoru came across only two people. One was an ANBU agent stalking the halls like a monster out of a child’s nightmare, their white armor eerily bright in the gloom of the unlit halls. The other was a regular shinobi who wore an Aviary patch on his right shoulder. He was running up a set of stairs with a scroll clutched in his fist, barely a blur.

The Hokage was a very busy man; any normal shinobi had a hard time getting in contact with him, but he always made time for his agents — official or not. Kaoru silently opened his office door, not bothering to knock. He was expecting her.

Danzō didn’t bother looking up from his desk when she stopped at the center of his office, taking a professional stance with hands folded neatly behind her back and spine straight. Since Kaoru wasn’t an official ANBU agent, and this meeting _technically_ wasn’t happening, she didn’t have to show deference to him by taking a knee. There were small mercies.

Kaoru stared over the Hokage’s head at the wall scroll along the back wall. She could be here a while. In a dark corner of her mind, she privately thought he enjoyed making his subordinates wait.

In the three years since Danzō took office, very little had changed about his office. Someone had added three bookshelves along the right wall, stacked with various papers and books; the desk had new additions as well, a rack for scrolls and an intricately engraved model of the Konohan leaf signet replacing the dead bonsai.

Once Danzō finished reading the scroll he had, he rolled it up and set it in an empty slot on the scroll rack. Instead of addressing Kaoru, however, he simply reached for another one. The scroll was opened, and the process repeated.

It was nearing half after one when Danzō finally finished his slow slog through the scrolls at his desk. With a faint click, he set his pen down. Reaching down, Danzō opened a drawer and withdrew a slim, plain colored folder. Kaoru felt trepidation rise in her throat at the sight of the innocuous-looking thing.

It barely made a sound when he let it fall from his hand to the edge of the desk, but in her mind the soft _fwip_ sounded as loud as a thunderclap.

Kaoru stepped forward silently and took the folder. She held it to her chest with one arm, feeling strangely like a secretary in that moment. Kaoru met the piercing gaze of her leader squarely. She was not afraid of him. She _wasn’t_. She had no reason to be frightened.

(She had more reason than anyone.)

“Destroy the evidence afterwards.”

And that was it. The meeting was over. Kaoru kept a stranglehold on her urge to slump in relief, having finally been released from the clutches of her Hokage and his secret organization. Instead she simply dipped her head once in both acknowledgment and respect and turned to leave.

Kaoru made it to the door, her hand on the handle to turn it, when Danzō spoke again, “Takayuki.”

No emotion. Nothing mattered. No deep inhale. No shudder of dread allowed. _Please._

“Yes, Hokage-sama?”

“You once told me you joined the program to atone for a mistake.” That had been five years ago when he first approached her about an opportunity to be a major piece in winning the eventual war. Why was he bringing it up now?

“Yes sir.”

“I find myself curious, what was that mistake that motivated you to do better than the others?”

There were many things she could say. Lies, partial or stretched truths, and an infinite amount of every excuse in between. She used her skills often enough to hide from plenty of things, but not this. Never this.

Kaoru turned around to face her leader fully, navy eyes shadowed with the weariness that she expertly hid every day. “It’s simple really, sir. I befriended someone I wasn’t supposed to.”

One mistake. One among many.

Fates forgive her.

The Rokudaime hummed under his breath, not entirely satisfied with her answer, but he waved her off. She bowed and left.

Once she was huddled in her bedroom, the locks on her door and window were enough to rival the traps of a paranoid war jōnin, Kaoru finally opened the folder. Clipped to the inside was a candid photo of a heavily pregnant, plain-looking civilian and a small square of thin chakra paper taped to the back of it.

_ Target: Matsuda Kiho _

_ Age: 28 _

_ Agent will assist Target against hospital regulation. Disciplinary hearing to follow next day. Result: Suspension for five weeks. Handler will contact Agent after undisclosed time passes (PASSPHRASE:  _ Pictures of pinwheels _). Defect three days later._

With a small application of her latent chakra nature, the paper, photo, and folder all crumbled to ash in a matter of seconds. Kaoru brushed the soot from her fingers absently. She wasn’t entirely surprised at the fabricated reason for her defection — it had been an ongoing elaborate scheme.

Ever since she had joined the Program, the spymaster had orchestrated a series of events for her to participate in, all leading to her eventual defection. It started small, a few minor issues that ended in verbal warnings or write ups, but as the policies at the Hospital changed so did her infractions. Eventually she was being put on probation for breaking hospital policies. Nothing too bad, nothing to paint her as a villain, but rather as a frustrated nurse who was being shut out by every new law that separated the civilians from the shinobi.

It was a risk. Her cover made for a more sympathetic reason to turn traitor. It might soften the hearts of those when they heard, but it also meant her path to the Uchiha was paved smoother than if she were just a disgruntled nurse wallowing in her rank.

Kaoru dismantled the traps, a village-locked nurse had no reason to be that paranoid after all, and climbed into bed.

As she laid curled under her floral-printed blankets, a leftover from her childhood, Kaoru stared hard at another relic of her past. A stuffed rabbit had flopped over on her dresser, slumping out of the sitting position she kept it in.

At one point it had been a bright mint green, but time and use had faded the fabric to a dingy gray-green. One of its ears had been ripped off when Kaoru’s younger sister had flung it across the room and the glass eyes were scratched and dull.

It was a worn thing, a memory of happier times.

“ _Here, Kaoru-chan! I won this for you!”_

Kaoru closed her eyes to stave off the tears. She ducked her head under the covers to hide from those accusing glass eyes.

Fates, _please_ , forgive her.

* * *

_Everything, every mistake ever made, started just like this:_

Takayuki Kaoru was born with memories of someone else — a lifetime of desires and regrets all abruptly left unanswered in the body of a newborn child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough* So… This is the end of Mistakes’ Prologue! The grand total of both ‘chapters’ equaled to 51 pages and 23K words, so you understand why I split it, at the urging of Kikiji  
> >>Discord server under construction<<  
> Check out the Tumblr:  
> evil-overlord-scriptology. tumblr. com  
> Up Next: Shisui  
> Farewell, my lovelies, until next time!


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